Mahdi
by MsCogsworthy
Summary: The war has ended, and Anne returns to Hogwarts. Will she find a home there, or will her past destroy her?
1. Chapter One

"The war is over!"

A roar of jubilation crashed through the Great Hall, wave after wave of cheering, weeping, applause. The war that had raged across the world for so many years had ended; the Dark was defeated and the warriors of the Light would return home at last.

Albus Dumbledore surveyed his students with a quiet twinkle in his eye. He stroked the downy white owl at his elbow, folded the precious parchment, and raised his glass. The Hall fell silent, all eyes turned to the aged Headmaster.

"I would like to propose a toast. First, to the memories of our compatriots." He gestured to the six silent, black-draped chairs at the faculty table. The students soberly copied the gesture. 

"Next, to those who will be returning home soon: may their journeys be short and happy." Another roar of applause. 

"Finally," and he gazed around the room over the edges of his glasses, "to each of you, that you have flourished despite your circumstances. I hope that the years ahead of you will be easier than those behind."

At his elbow, Hermione Granger smiled slightly. She tipped her glass toward Severus Snape and Madame Pomphrey, some of the only faculty still remaining from her own student days. She said a quick, fervent prayer for the safe return of those she loved.

Dumbledore lowered himself into his seat as food appeared on the table. Hermione leaned in to whisper to him. 

"Albus." No matter how often she said it, his name still sounded odd coming from her own mouth. "Any word yet?"

"Yes, Miss Granger." He nodded slowly. "They are all coming home at last."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Snape wandered around the Potions classroom, absently touching phials and beakers. The war had all but passed him by; he had watched students leave, colleagues fall and old compatriots meet all-too untimely ends. He himself had stayed at Hogwarts, his only outward concession to current events the addition of several key potions to the yearly repertoire. While the other professors restructured their classes to at least include some mention of the war, Snape's students joked that, in the dungeons, time ceased to exist.

It was far from the truth. Snape received regular owls from an old acquaintance in the Ministry, keeping him abreast of the currents of war. He knew the battles by heart, every advance, every defeat, every former student that died in every valiant stand in every country of the world. He kept his eye on certain names, always half-expecting to find them among the lists of the dead, always strangely relieved when they were not. Now, they would be returning here, as colleagues; he felt a leap of unfamiliar expectation at the prospect of seeing their young faces again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first heroes returned in early summer. The Weasley brothers, except Percy and Bill, had survived the war despite serving in the most dangerous capacities. Fred and George, to everyone's surprise, had enlisted as counterintelligence officers, helping infiltrate the ranks of Voldemort's Death-Eaters. They returned to Hogwarts for a brief time in May to rest and recover. Charlie came not much later and stayed only a few days, then left to resume the life he had put on hold for the duration. Percy and Bill returned a little later, a mournful homecoming, two black wooden boxes unloaded from the train on an obligingly rainy morning. They were buried at Hogwarts by their parents' request, the first of many former students to return home forever.

Ron returned the same month. He had grown into a secure, confident man during his tenure as an Auror for the ministry, yet sadness lay thick across his formerly cheerful features. He spent hours in Hermione's chambers, holding her as if he would lose her at any moment. They had not seen each other in two years, not since he had slipped out in the night and disappeared from her life. All he would say of those two years was that he didn't want to talk about them.

 "I just want to skip over them. I'd rather concentrate on what comes now." What came now was a position as Charms Master at Hogwarts in the fall, and a wedding in the winter.

Ginny also came home in May, although hers was not a hero's return. Her parents had sent her away to keep her as far as possible from the British and American conflicts; she passed the war with Anne's sister Betsy, serving in Vancouver as a Healer.

Hermione kept records of the others, the survivors and the dead. Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Seamus Finnegan– their regiment was destroyed at the Battle of Dunkeld in the last weeks of the war. She sent flowers to their families and mourned in her own quiet way, spending hours in the library away from the other professors.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Miss Granger." Hermione looked up from her research and nodded a greeting at Dumbledore. 

"Albus. Any news? Should we expect...anyone else?"

Dumbledore settled into the chair beside her. "Yes, Hermione." His voice was soothing. "She should be arriving any day now. As for him...as always, that remains to be seen. I have faith that he will come back to us, though." They sat together in companionable silence. She shook herself slightly and dragged herself from the chair.

"I hate to run off like this, Albus. I need to see about the new portraits– I was hoping to have them all hung before the school term starts." He nodded, waving her out the door. He continued to sit, lost in thought, for a long time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

Sometimes I think the worst moments of my life happen when I'm sitting in front of a mirror. When I was at school, I remember sitting for hours, trying to figure out ways to cover up the evidence of my encounters with a professor; then, every mirror I passed was a potential betrayal, an enemy in my own battle against knowledge. After I went to Hogwarts, the mirror was a silent collaborator, the one and only person I talked to for months on end as I tried to figure out who this person was that I was becoming. As I made friends, settled into the routine of my new home, I noticed mirrors less and less, some days forgetting to look in them entirely. 

That changed during the war. A mirror is an operative's best friend– it tells you when you're succeeding or failing, when your disguise is slipping, what to adjust, how to act. It's the safe trial run before the most dangerous performances. I lived in my mirror for four years, until I knew every inch of my own face far better than anyone ever had.

Now, I sit in front of my old childhood mirror in my Gram's house, and wonder who that woman is staring out at me from the depths of the glass. I don't recognize her anymore– the cold, flat eyes, copper hair streaked with bone white, the sunburnt skin seeming brittle to the touch. I turn my face to the right; she mimics me, and we both stare at the map of scars that obscures the once-strong features. Her mouth twitches upward, slightly, a smile so ironic it is painful to watch. I adjust my own dark blue veils, an habitual motion fine-tuned by years in the Middle East, covering her scars with fabric the color of night. Her eyes are shockingly icy, floating like chips of jade above the ocean of blue.

The face is lean and hard, the body taught with muscle and tension. Would any of my old friends recognize me, even if I went unveiled? I would find out soon enough. I lifted a single parchment from the dressing table, absently stroking the tiny brown owl that had delivered the message, and reread the summons.

I turned away from the mirror to stare through another sheet of glass onto the city streets. Edinburgh hadn't changed as much as I had expected, a forcible reminder that our wars were not always the wars of Muggles. The great castle still stood above the rolling waves of the old city, a pile of crumbling stone and glass and grass. Gram's house hadn't changed either– I don't think it had changed at all since I was a small child visiting for Midsummer holidays. She had operated a vast network of correspondence and intelligence from this house during the war; letters from every battle or operation or secret cabal had passed through these walls safely. Now I was home, for a while, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of a life I thought would end in the war.

I eyed the sheet of parchment still lying on my dressing table. It glowed faintly around the edges, dark script stark against the creamy paper. I picked it up and read it again.

_Miss Llewellyn-Pale,_

_We would like to extend an offer of employment beginning with the Fall term of this year_. _As you may know, we have lost a substantial number of our staff to the war, and we find ourselves far short of the necessary number of teachers. We hope to receive your reply promptly._

_Cordially,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

_P.S. It's time to come home, Anne._

I tossed the letter back onto the cluttered surface, knocking over several tiny bottles. Nejat, my hawk, ruffled her feathers and danced from foot to foot in agitation. I stroked her head absently, noting that her feathers were damp. 

"Have you been out today, my love? It must have been foggy." She cocked her head at me, her yellow eyes glinting. "I know you don't like this weather. Neither do I, but we'll have to get used to it. Poor dear. At least I was born here. You must be miserable, and it's not even that cold yet." I was afraid for her health once winter came; Nejat had never known snow or cold or ice in her life in the desert. 

A slight ache throbbed between my eyes; I was still unaccustomed to reading left to right. I looked up from the page and stared around my bedroom. Gram had kept the room intact throughout the long years of the war; some instinct, perhaps, that told her I would desperately need familiar things around me when I returned home at last. My weary eyes drank in the cool blue and white linens and the wide view of Edinburgh outside the windows. Was I ready to leave this place, the only place where I had found rest after the war? 

I peeled a long strip of parchment from the bottom edge of Dumbledore's letter. I had learned early on in our acquaintance that Nejat wouldn't carry full-sized letters in her talons; she was trained to fly messages in tiny tubes strapped to her legs, and couldn't land if her feet were occupied. Jotting a quick reply, I extended my arm to the dust-colored bird perched on the windowsill. Nejat hopped onto my wrist and nibbled at my hair as I fastened the message to her leg.

"Go now. Fly north, find Dumbledore. Hurry." She soared out the window, a streak of tawny feathers against the blue sky.

Suddenly anxious, I roamed around my childhood bedroom, absently touching things that tried to be familiar to me, but failed. My old toys, books, the crisp white and blue linens, a closet full of clothes that belonged to someone I didn't know. I laughed, abrupt and harsh in the tranquil room. At least packing wouldn't be difficult– I owned almost nothing, had very little clothing. All of my worldly possessions would now fit comfortably inside my old school trunk.

The door snicked open behind me, and I caught my Gram's eye in the mirror. I wondered if she had any idea how much I'd missed her tiny, tweed-clad appearance while I was in the desert. She surveyed the room, noted Nejat's absence, the torn parchment, and my inky fingers in one glance. 

"Anne." My Gram's soft brogue at the doorway.

"Yes, Gram" I turned to face her, instinctively drawing the veil over the lower part of my face. Worry marked her gentle face.

"Dearest, was that the letter from Dumbledore?"

"Yes Gram. I've replied." I smiled reassuringly at her.

"You're going then." It was less a question than a statement of fact.

"Where else would I go, Gram? I can't stay here forever. The doctor said I'm healed as well as I ever will be, there's no reason to wait longer. Besides, I need to be back among familiar faces."

She touched the top of my head gingerly. Poor Gram– she didn't know how to act around me anymore. I felt so weary, so tired of the way things had become. I pressed my thumb against a low, rotten ache in my temple. Gram touched me on the shoulder, let me cling to her against the onslaught of anxiety.

"Come down to eat, sweetest. You don't eat enough." She crossed to the doorway, hesitated, and turned back to me. "And Anne. Your mother wrote. Your sister's back home."

I nodded. Betsy had also spent the years of the war abroad, but she, unlike me, had passed her time in primarily administrative capacities. My parents would be proudest of her. 

"That's good Gram. They need a daughter they can claim."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Great Hall was clogged with students in early June; Dumbledore had reinstated summer school during the war years as a safe haven for his students, and many had stayed on that last summer rather than return home to the sad work of rebuilding their world. They would all be returning home for a few weeks before the start of term to visit and celebrate or mourn. 

On Midsummer Night, the Hall was wreathed in garlands of fresh summer wildflowers twined with shimmering ribbons, the ensorcelled ceiling reflecting a vast velvet sky pinned together with a perfect full moon. The faculty seemed more relaxed than the students had ever seen them; even Snape seemed pleasant that evening.

Hermione and Ron sat at the high table together. "Do you think they'll come, 'Mione?" Ron reverted to his old childhood nickname for her. He dished a helping of baked summer squash onto his plate; she smiled affectionately to see that his appetite was finally returning.

"I don't know, love. I think he will, but I don't know about her. Dumbledore says any day now they'll both be here, but I'm just not sure if she'll come at all." Her face folded in worried creases.

Ron squeezed her knee beneath the table. "She always was more stubborn than we thought. Remember how she stood up to Draco, all those years. And don't forget how she used to talk back to Snape. Bloody near killed him, I think." He squeezed in another mouthful of squash. Hermione nodded.

"You weren't here the last time, when she left. You were still in training in London. It was awful, Ron. She and Harry argued; he told her he wanted her to go home to her family where she would be safe, she wanted to go with him and fight. She ended up staying in Edinburgh, Dumbledore told us, but she only stayed at home long enough to prepare to enter the war. I don't think they've seen each other in...what...six years?" She shook her head, picking at her food.

"Eight." 

Hermione and Ron both jumped at the sudden harsh voice. The Great Hall fell silent, students and professors slack-jawed in astonishment at the odd figure that had Apparated before the faculty table. The person was slight and seemed thin, but all hints at the person's identity were erased by the clothes the figure wore. A jet-black robe fell to the floor, the sleeves extended to the knuckles, every inch of flesh completely concealed. The figure's head was covered by a deep blue scarf, and the face was covered with a matching veil. Two black-rimmed eyes stared out, flat and cold, between the layers of veiling. A massive tawny bird perched on the figure's wrist; it bridled and screamed, a single challenging note in the still room.

Snape and Ron leaped to their feet, wands lowered at the figure. Students scrambled away from the threatening entity, stories of Death Eaters still fresh in their minds. The figure stood, motionless, at the center of a storm of activity. One dark hand stroked the nervous bird.

"Silence." Dumbledore's voice rumbled over the noisy hall. "Every will please return to your seats. Professor Snape, Professor Weasely. Thank you for your vigilance, but I think you will find that no defense is necessary." Dumbledore sat back down and waited.

The figure turned toward him. "That's quite a welcome, Headmaster. Makes a person feel right at home." The dark-rimmed eyes danced in grim amusement. Dumbledore gestured to the empty seat to his right.

"Please join us."

The figure stared at the seat that Dumbledore had indicated. The wide eyes turned to him in disbelief. "Oh, sir. Not Minerva."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am afraid so. She would have wanted you to take her chair, though."

The other professors were still wary. Hermione leaned around Ron. "Albus. Perhaps you could let the rest of us in on the secret here."

Before Dumbledore could speak, the dark figure stepped forward. 

"I think I should answer that. It's only right, since I gave you such a scare." 

One hand lifted to the side of the head and released a single pin. As they all watched, the figure slid the veils over the head and dropped them to the floor. A rich flood of shimmering copper and blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, partially covering her face, and icy green eyes snapped from a deeply tanned face. Hermione gasped aloud and began to sob. Ron hurtled from his chair to wrap her in a massive hug. Snape rose from his seat, a frosted wave of relief washing over him.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Llewellyn-Pale." Her head turned toward his deep voice, her eyes shimmering at him through Ron's long firecracker hair. She pulled away from him gently, and faced her old Potions master.

"Actually, Professor Snape, it's just Llewellyn now. I dropped my father's name years ago." She smiled grimly at him, stretched like a cat, long and lithe, wrapping the veils back over her hair and face. She stepped behind the long table and seated herself in Minerva McGonagall's old chair. Snape dropped back into his customary chair, wondering when the other would show up.

~~~~~~~~

~Anne~

I didn't mean to frighten anyone.

Perhaps that's not the truth. I did want to startle them, to impress upon them that I was no longer their sweet Anne. To remind them of what I did in the war.

I didn't expect so many empty seats, so many of the faculty gone. The Hall looks so different without them there.

Even the students don't look as I remember. These children aren't like we were; they don't have that air of protected innocence anymore. They look like survivors, not children.


	2. Chapter Two

They sat in her rooms, the three old companions, trying to remember how to talk to each other. Hermione wandered restlessly, examining the strange objects Anne had brought to decorate her room. She picked up a small silver box, crusted with filigreed roses and peacock feathers. Anne smiled affectionately at her friend's curiosity.

"That's a scribe's kit. Here, let me show you. I think you'll like it." Anne set the small box on the table and lifted the hinged lid. An amazing number of things were packed inside, each in its own compartment; she laid out the inkstone, tiny water bottle, quill knife, blotting cloth, and a few scraps of parchment sized to fit into the falcon's leg cases. She cut a new quill, rubbed a drop of water into the inkstone with the side, and poured letters onto a scrap of parchment.

Hermione was entranced. Anne's hand flowed across the fragment from right to left, laying down a ribbon of intricately twisting lines and marks. She blotted it briefly with the cloth and held it out to Hermione. The scrap glowed faintly, a pale green smudge almost the color of Anne's eyes.

Hermione turned it over. "What is it?"

"Just a protective charm I learned from an old Bedouin woman. Keep it in your pocket, if you remember. It's good for scholars and travelers." She turned to Ron, who was busily trying to seduce Nejat off the curtain rail. She rummaged in a glass box by the window and handed him a tiny green tree frog. 

"Here. You'll have more luck with this. Falcons pretty much think with their stomachs when it comes to making friends." She smiled again as the bird dropped off the rail onto Ron's wrist and nibbled delicately at the frog. She showed him the special spot above the bird's beak, and left him cooing softly to the bird. With a deep sigh, she settled herself into an embroidered chair close to the fire. She coughed, a thick sound that bothered Hermione.

"How have you been, Anne?" Hermione's face was lined with worry.

"Mostly all right, I suppose." She looked around the room, drinking in the unfamiliar furnishings and decor. "Is it always so cold? I don't remember England being this cold in the summer."

"Anne, are you sure you don't want to see Madame Pomphrey? I mean, it's sweltering in here, and you look like you're freezing to death. Are you sick?" Hermione fretted about her, as always. She pushed her friend away as gently as she could.

"No, no. I'm not sick. I'm just not used to the climate anymore. It's a hundred and six in Turkey right now. One gets used to the desert, I suppose."

Ron plopped onto the floor in front of Hermione. "You were in Turkey? What were you doing? Was it for the war? No one ever told us, Anne. What were you doing in the desert? Which desert?"

She studied their faces. She was torn between telling them everything, and keeping her secrets until she knew they were ready to hear. At last she sighed and began to speak.

"I joined the Ministry right after H– right after my last visit here. They put me through a special training program in Edinburgh, taught me languages, history, culture, politics, defense...I was particularly gifted in Arabic. That's what made them want me to go to the Middle East." She paused as Ron gasped out loud. She smiled, a grim twitch of her mouth.

"Ron knows what I'm going to say, don't you Ron? I suppose you can't work for the Ministry and not know a little something about Silent Storm." Ron nodded, turning shocked eyes to Hermione.

"Ron? What is it? What is she talking about?" Hermione wished, for the first time, that she had been privy to this sort of activity during the war. She'd been glad to be at Hogwarts, but now she felt woefully excluded.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Silent Storm. I don't know much, mind you, they were incredibly secretive about it 'round the office, but I remember Percy saying something about counterintelligence and assassinations..." He stared at Anne. Surely not her?

Anne continued the explanation. "Hermione, Silent Storm was– is– a special task force designed to monitor and, to an extent, control the Dark's influence on Muggle affairs. Basically, we put magical people in strategic positions close to key political figures so we can...negate...some of the influence."

Hermione was stunned. _The last Dumbledore told me_, she was thinking, _she worked for the Ministry in some minor clerical role in Europe_. Anne turned frosty green eyes to her friend's face.

"Dumbledore kept secrets for us for years." Anne grinned at her gasp of surprise. "That's a little talent I picked up a few years ago. It comes in handy when you're manipulating government officials." She snuggled down into her chair and wrapped her hands around a mug of hot, milky tea. She desperately wanted some of the thick bitter coffee she drank in Turkey. She coughed again, a thick, liquid rumbling deep in her chest, then cleared her throat as best she could.

"One strategically placed person could possibly prevent our war from leaking over into their world, or worse. There are a lot of borderline-crazy Muggles out there, 'Mione, just looking for any excuse to start another war. So, we meddled in politics and people's lives, manipulated, plotted, schemed...sometimes we even made people disappear. All in the name of preserving people who don't even know we exist."

Her face became terribly grim. "I don't know if you know this, but Edinburgh has a Ministry training center for magical people. The Ministry recruited me almost as soon as my second term classes started. They put me through the training center. I studied fourteen hours a day for two years, and when I got out, they sent me to Turkey. I spent five years meddling in Middle Eastern politics. Things got exciting during the war; the Dark likes to work on religious extremists since they're easier to persuade than the average cynic. We had a few very quiet, intense battles here and there, lost a few people, and then the war was over. I was just starting to wonder if I wanted to continue on when I got the letter from Dumbledore." She paused to take a long drink of tea, letting her hair fell like a curtain across her face.

She could feel Hermione watching her intently. Anne knew that Hermione noticed that she kept the left side of her face covered with hair when her veil was off, and that she always sat turned away from them on that side. Hermione's gaze traveled to her lap; Anne tucked her left hand deeper inside the loose robe she wore.

"Don't ask me now, 'Mione. It's too recent still." She turned her face to the fire and closed her eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He stood outside the gate to his old school, waiting. Memories of the war mingled with memories of school friends and Quidditch matches, blending into a confusing mess inside his head. He no longer knew which memories were new and which were old.

Dumbledore met him outside the gate. The deep mask of care that lay over the boy's face worried the old man; the green eyes clouded with anxiety and fatigue, exhaustion screaming in his slouching walk. He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and Apparated them both into his own office.

"Harry. I am so glad you came. We have been expecting you, my boy." 

Harry nodded, still dazed. He was only recently back from the worst of the fighting in the States; he had joined the regiments scouring the Rockies for the last traces of Voldemort's supporters. The fighting had been fierce and ugly to the end. Then the owl had come, summoning him back to the only home he had ever known, and he had come blindly, wanting only to escape.

"The others?" His voice, still sweet and warm, now sounded lifeless. Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley has agreed to take on the Charms position. Miss Granger has filled Professor McGonagall's position for three years now." Dumbledore hesitated, debating the effects of his next few sentences. "Professors Snape and Flitwick are still with us. The other new professor is filling the Muggle Studies seat."

Harry was curious. That position had always been filled by one of the other professors before. "Who is it?" 

"I believe you will find that it is someone of whom you have often thought, these last few years." Harry was too tired to puzzle over Dumbledore's cryptic remark. Dumbledore lifted the boy's bag to his shoulder and escorted him to his chambers. Once Harry was settled, Dumbledore retraced his steps to Anne's door and knocked. It was high time he and Miss Llewellyn had a chat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

Hermione and Ron had slipped out when Dumbledore entered my rooms. I almost wished they had stayed; I felt loose, disconnected from the world. His announcement fell on me like a collapsing mountain.

I was silent. Dumbledore scanned my face for signs of reaction. I forced myself to speak finally, my voice rasping in my throat.

"Harry's here? He's– he's still alive, then?" Dumbledore assented. "Where is he?"

"He's resting now. He needs to recover his strength. He's not well– the war was...unusually hard on him." My sardonic laugh cut him off.

"The war was hard on everyone, Albus. No one escaped unscarred." My right hand covered the hidden left one protectively. "Some of us gave far more than we ever expected."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dumbledore touched her shoulder. She had changed so much from the girl he had known. She still affected Turkish dress, saying that she felt unclothed without the layers of veiling and black kohl she had worn for the last six years. She was harder, angrier, more bitter and brittle than he ever expected. He rose to leave, patting her shoulder.

"Try to be gentle with one another, Anne."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

I stormed about my chamber, cursing in Arabic. I tripped over a book Hermione had left and kicked it viciously away. Nejat, startled, shrieked and fled to the curtain rail. Finally, I could stand the small room no longer and slammed out of my chambers. I stalked through halls, veiling rustling about me, fairly crackling in anger. The moonlight washed in through the high windows, throwing my face, glimpsed in passing mirrors, into sharp negative relief.

I rounded a corner and ran full-length into another dark figure. I rebounded off a solid form and sprawled on the floor amid a torrent of my own cursing. I glared up at the inky figure, standing impassively over me. He crossed his arms and waited, his very posture screaming disdain at me. I dusted my hands, checking for bruises, and then cocked an eyebrow at him.

"The least you could do, Professor, is help me up."

"Forgive me, Miss Llewellyn. I was under the impression that you did not wish my further assistance." Snape extended a pale hand to me. He scrutinized my face. "May I ask why you are out and about at this...unholy... hour of the night? A bout of insomnia, perhaps? Surely there are better times to tour the school."

"Do you have a moment, sir? I.... I need a familiar face just now." 

He gestured for me to follow him into his chambers. I trailed behind him hesitantly. Although we were now, ostensibly, colleagues, I felt a certain thrill of the forbidden when entering his rooms. He pointed to a chair near the fireplace. I poured myself into the surprisingly comfortable chair, wrapping my too-thin robes tightly around me, shivering, wishing I had fetched my woolen djellabah on my way out of the room. Snape muttered a word, snapped his fingers, and a fire roared up in the fireplace. I smiled gratefully at him.

"Now, Miss—forgive me— Professor Llewellyn. How may I be of service to you?"

I regarded his inky black eyes. "I think I made a mistake, sir." 

He waved irritably. "If you're going to unburden your soul, Professor, the least you could do to ease my misery would be to call me by my name. What mistake do you imagine you have made?"

I nodded and continued. "I shouldn't have come back here, Severus."

"Ah, I see our dear Headmaster has informed you of Mr. Potter's arrival. I would have expected you to be pleased, Professor Llewellyn. As I recall, you and Potter were quite close. Once." His eyes narrowed, calculating.

"_Were_ being the operative phrase, Severus. I haven't heard from him, not one word, in years." I leaned back into my chair. "And please. Since we're extending courtesies, I'd prefer you call me Anne. I'm not used to the Professor yet."

"Well, Anne. It would seem that an opportunity for reconciliation is at hand. You should be overjoyed." 

He still quite enjoyed needling me, I could tell. We had sparred often, my last year of school, a fact that had never ceased to amaze my friends. Ron, particularly, expected me to be poisoned or turned into something unnatural at any moment.

My lips pressed into a thin line. "He left me, Severus. He went off to live his life and sent me home like a child who'd been naughty." My fists clenched. "I wanted to go with him and be of use, not sit at home and count bandages and wait. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Snape could feel the hot edge of her fury bubbling up under that chilly exterior. He realized that she was fully capable of leaving this room and murdering Potter in his sleep– he'd followed her activities in Turkey far too closely to trust her anger. He tried another tack.

 "Why did you come back, Anne? You had to know he would be summoned. Why didn't you return to your studies? Take up music again; I seem to remember that you were quite gifted, once. Find a nice wizard, settle down, have little witches and wizards? Why come back here?" His sneering voice cut to her bones; anger roared in her head, wiping out rational thought. She flowed, trembling, to her feet.

"Why did I come back, Severus? That's an unworthy question. Where else could I go? I lost everything in the wars. The Ministry took my life, that bomb in Ankara took half my hand and my face, my voice –well, you can hear that for yourself–and the war took Harry. What else was left?" 

Her voice shivered and broke against his cold stare. She hung for a moment, quivering in fury, as a single tear slid down her cheek. She didn't touch it, merely swept her hair against her cheek and let the tears fall.

Snape stood before her, letting her weep silently. He was not good in these situations. He knew he should say something comforting, but his years of solitude had rendered him incapable of the correct words. At the same time, he felt an urge to do...something. He touched her arm awkwardly. 

"Perhaps I should escort you to you rooms, Anne."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

Back in my rooms, I sat and stared at the fire. I absently cradled my crippled left hand, gingerly probing the long scar that lay along the outside of my hand. I flexed the fingers, feeling the damaged muscles strain and resist the motion. I clucked gently to Nejat, who was still ruffled and upset from my earlier tirade. I tried to tempt her to me with a small frog, but she only danced across the rail, chittering. I couldn't blame her. I didn't like me very much when I was angry either.

"Dumbledore told me you were here." I whipped around, Summoning a wand into my right hand. I gaped at the tall figure in the shadows by the window. His hair was long now, a tangle of inky strands swept back into a shoulder length tail in a failing attempt to conquer its natural wildness. He still wore the round, steel framed glasses that made his grassy eyes stand out from his pale face. He looked tired to me, dark circles under his eyes and a haunted, haggard look about his mouth.

"Don't _do _that. You could get killed, sneaking around the wrong places. How did you get in here?" My voice shook him; it was no longer liquid and melodic the way he would remember. Instead, it was a harsh, raucous, grating noise that rasped out of me like a raven's call. _I wonder if she ever sings anymore_, his thought was plain on his face. He had always loved my singing.

"Simple, really. Muggle skeleton keys are quite useful." Harry stepped into the firelight. He gestured warily at the wand in my hand. "Umm, could you put that down? You're kind of scary right now." 

I laid the wand on a small table, still within reach. I watched him approach me, panic building in my stomach. I turned away quickly and stepped around an armchair. 

"Would you like to sit down? I think there's some tea– do you want some?" He nodded as he sank gracefully into the chair. I piddled about with the tea things, finally coming to settle in another chair close to his. He watched me pour. His gaze was probing; it made me deeply uncomfortable in ways I didn't like.

Nejat swooped to the arm of my chair, protective of me around strangers. She twitched her head from side to side, examining him with one eye, then the other. Harry tracked her as she bobbed nervously along the arm of the chair.

"Am I upsetting him?"

"Her. She's shy of strangers, especially since we came back to England. She doesn't know this place, so it makes her anxious. I'll have to keep her away from the owls for a while." I rubbed the spot above her beak, coaxed her to take a treat from my fingers.

"What kind of bird is she? Some kind of hawk?" Birds fascinated Harry, still. 

"She's a falcon, actually. A black kite. Fairly common in the Middle East and Africa, but I think you can really only see them in the zoos here. Her name's Nejat." We fell silent, the conversation dropping like a stone into the heat of the room.

"What happened to your hand?" I stiffened, pulling it back into my sleeve. I glanced at him, saw curiosity and concern in his face. I debated telling him, then sighed. I never could keep secrets from him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"It was a mistake. We were supposed to be gathering information about an extremist group that was trying to buy nuclear technology from Pakistan. According to our sources, a certain religious leader that we believed to be under Voldemort's influence was going to be visiting the area and planned to meet with this group. Our orders were to infiltrate the group and assassinate the imam before the purchase was completed–without him, the sellers wouldn't deal." She stopped. Harry could see her visibly struggle to find words. 

"Someone leaked. That's the only way they could have known we were there. I was supposed to take a bottle of wine to the imam's room, disguised as a.... companion. The plan was to kill him and Apparate the body elsewhere so that no trace would be found." She stopped again.

"But something went wrong," Harry prompted. She nodded, her hair dancing in the mellow light.

"I was on the elevator. For some reason, I got a strange feeling that something was wrong. I had the bottle of wine in my hand, and I remember holding it up to the light and seeing...something... inside the bottle. I barely managed to turn away before it exploded. We found out later that the bottle was filled with nails and just enough explosives to create shrapnel. If the others hadn't yanked me out of there, I would have gone to Voldemort—they didn't intend to kill the traitors, you see. Just mark them for later. I was in the hospital for weeks. I missed the end of the war by days."

She stared off into space. Harry set his cup and saucer down and knelt in front of her chair. He grasped her left wrist and drew her hand out of her sleeves. She tried to fight him; he was startled by her wiry strength but eventually wrestled her hand free of the entangling fabric. He drew a sharp breath.

Her pinkie finger had been removed, along with the bone down to the wrist. Her remaining fingers were gnarled with scar tissue, crisscrossed with white and red furrows. A long, angry scar ran down the entire length of her hand, ending three inches above the wrist. He stroked the damaged limb and stared up at her face. She twitched her head away from him, trying to hide the left side. He reached up with his free hand and scooped her copper hair off her face. He nearly wept.

The left side of her face was just as scarred as her hand. Her eye was mercifully, miraculously undamaged save for a webbing of scars around the outer corner. Her cheek was bisected by a jagged scar that started below her cheekbone and ripped through the corner of her mouth. The rest of her lower cheek and jaw were bird-tracked with stitch marks, a patchwork of scars that extended down her throat and disappeared into the neckline of her robes.. He touched her face with a trembling hand. She jerked away from him.

"Anne. I'm so sorry I left you, Anne. I thought I didn't have a choice." His voice was soft and compelling. She tried again to pull her hand out of his grasp.

"I thought you were dead. All the Ministry would tell me was that you disappeared. That's why I joined, Harry. That's why I signed up for Silent Storm. I didn't have any reason not to. I didn't want to come back at all." She blurted out her confession to his stunned face. He froze, staring at her.

"They let you think I was dead?" He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He imagined her, getting that news. How she must have felt. He dragged her into his arms and buried his face in her spicy hair the way he had before the war.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

I hated the look on his face, when he finally saw my face. I knew that look too well; Gram had worn that look for weeks after I came back. I had been only too glad to wrap myself in my Muslim veils again, if only to escape the prying and pitying eyes everywhere I went.

I could feel Harry trembling against my shoulder, a deep shuddering that also shook me. I stroked his hair, wondering if we could just begin again like this, if we could erase the years of separation and anger as easily as a child destroys a sand castle. Even if we could, did I want to?


	3. Chapter Three

Dumbledore watched the two through his observation glass. He turned to the sooty figure that sat across the desk from him. Snape gazed at him, level and composed, carefully ignoring the scene in the glass.

"Severus, I am concerned about Miss Llewellyn." Dumbledore's voice was thin, a frail echo of the powerful voice that had silenced the Great Hall for so many years. 

Snape nodded once. "She has certainly changed. We should have expected it, Headmaster. She has cultivated...different talents than one might have hoped."

Dumbledore assented. "Indeed. As such, she presents a rather odd dilemma. You know that I had intended to ask her to serve as the female head of Gryffindor, with Mr. Potter." Snape nodded again, thinking about the other houses; Ron, interestingly, had opted to take over Hufflepuff in the absence of any other candidates, while Hermione would be leading the Ravenclaws.

"I hardly think that Professor Llewellyn is suited for Gryffindor at this point, Headmaster. I would consider her too– how should I put this– too intense for that position. Her disposition aside, I would also point out that she and Mr. Potter may not be able to resolve their differences. That could create problems within the House."

Dumbledore pondered that. "I agree, Severus. However, that still leaves us with a decision to be made. She's certainly too flashy for Hufflepuff-- the Hat got that right, even then. She has intellect and talent enough to head Ravenclaw. She could be a successful antidote to the Ravenclaw tendency to bookishness."

"At the same time, Albus, Professor Granger is highly qualified to hold that position as well, and is more traditionally tempered to suit the position."

"That's true. Severus," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a way that made Snape distinctly uncomfortable. "Severus, how would you feel about taking on an assistant?"

~~~~~~~~

Anne

I wandered out of my room the next morning, moving quietly to not wake him. He had partially woken in the middle of the night and I had helped him onto the sofa before climbing into my own bed. He was still curled underneath a bright Moorish blanket that I tucked up around his ears before drawing on my veils and outer robe.

I gestured to Nejat, holding my wrist out so she could alight. She needed exercise, and I needed to get away from Harry, to think clearly. I wandered out away from the buildings, toward the Quidditch pitch. The arena still stood, silent and strong and colorful against the shocking green grass. I climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and loosed Nejat to hunt. She wheeled and swooped over the pitch like a tiny Seeker, searching out her own prey in the silent sky.

"I didn't expect to see you here." I could recognize Ron's voice anywhere, even without looking. He dropped onto the bench next to me. He had his old broom in one hand.

"Getting in a little practice before breakfast, eh?" He grinned impishly, and I marveled at how little the war had changed his face.

"Can't hurt." He ducked his head a little, suddenly guilty. "That's not true. I followed you out here– I saw you leaving and Apparated. I had a feeling you'd come out here." He watched me closely for my reaction. 

I nodded curtly. "So? Was there something in particular that made you follow me, or are you just being social?" He winced a little at the edge in my voice. I immediately regretted my sharpness; of everyone here, Ron gave me the least reason to snap.

"We're worried about you, Hermione and I."

"Still, Ron? I would think I've proven that I can take care of myself by now."

"It's not that. Obviously you can handle yourself. Can you handle Harry, though?" His question cut through me like a slim silver blade. I gasped aloud at the sudden flare of grief and anger that exploded in me. Ron grabbed my shoulder as the field spun around me; I clung to his hand so tightly I feared I would break it. I fought to keep calm.

"Anne. Talk to me." His voice was soothing– he sounded so much like his father.

I drew a shaky breath. "What do you want to know?"

"Harry told me...how he left things with you. He talked about you a lot, the first few months. Then it was like he just...switched off. He just stopped talking about you. Until we got news from Dumbledore, we were afraid something terrible had happened to you. I know you two parted on bad terms, but you have to figure out how to get along now." He looked at me expectantly.

"I don't know if I can, Ron. I don't know if I know how to care about people anymore."

That puzzled him. "What do you mean, you don't know how to care anymore?"

I sighed. "Ron, I just spent five years manipulating and using and killing people for a living. You can't do that for so long without forgetting that they're real. I can't afford to care about people. Caring gets you killed, every time."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Anne, you're not at war anymore. _We're_ not at war."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Slytherin?" I stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. "You want me to head Slytherin? Did I miss something, Albus, or was I not Sorted into Gryffindor once upon a time?"

He smiled gently at me. "I am well aware of your Sorting experience, Anne. If you recall, I was there at the time." He motioned me to sit before him. His face sobered. 

"However. Mr. Potter has been asked to serve as the Gryffindor head. I assumed that to ask you to serve with him might be a tad presumptuous. Was I incorrect?"

I felt strangely relieved. "No, Albus. No. I hadn't thought...I suppose Hermione will serve with him?"

He chuckled. "Not a bad guess, Professor Llewellyn, but no. Professor Granger will assume the head of Ravenclaw; Professor Weasely has taken over Hufflepuff."

How odd. Four Gryffindors spread out across four different houses. The war must have claimed more people than I realized.

"But why Slytherin, Albus? Why not just let me be staff? Surely Severus isn't stepping down anytime soon?"

"No, Professor, I have no plans to retire at the moment." Damn the man. I had stopped using my ability to sense people approaching me when I returned to Hogwarts, which meant that this particular cat no longer had a bell. He gazed at me impassively.

"However, I think you will agree that your disposition is uniquely suited to our house at this time."

He was right. I could no more head Gryffindor after my work in the war than Nejat could swim. Surely, though, they didn't think I was as ruthless and grasping as the average Slytherin, did they?

Dumbledore patted my arm. "Anne. I know this decision seems odd to you, especially with your experience with Slytherin over the years. Remember, though, that Slytherin do not so much prize the Dark as they prize ambition, resourcefulness, and a certain drive to succeed. They are, if nothing else, fiercely loyal to each other, intelligent, cunning...all qualities that you share." Dumbledore glanced at Snape. 

"I do believe that a conversation with Severus will change your mind."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I didn't talk to Severus that evening, not at first. I sat at the other end of the dinner table with Ron and Hermione and pretended that I would always be to Dumbledore's left. They chatted about their courses, the incoming first-years, the Quidditch team, and never noticed that I wasn't talking. I rose abruptly, gathering my robes about me, and turned to Hermione.

"I need to get some air. Will you tell Professor Snape that I'll see him after I get back?" She nodded, worried.

I stalked out of the Hall and down the corridor toward the outer gate. Hagrid hadn't been at dinner, but I needed to see him. He'd been conspicuously absent since I'd returned. I trudged through the tall grass to his hut, huddled at the edge of the Forest, and knocked on the tall door.

He filled the doorway, blocking he light from the fireplace. A huge hound lay behind him, drooling on the hearth rug.

"That's not Fang, surely?" I managed to say before he snatched me up into a massive hug. He held on to me for several minutes, sobbing, then set me down gently. I pulled away from him and curled up on his armchair, feeling as small as a child.

"It's good t' see you, Anne. I was wondering if you'd come out t' visit." He poured a cup of tea from a steaming pot. He set an assortment of candies out on a plate and set them in front of me.

I grinned at him. "How are you, Hagrid? How're the animals?"

He grinned back at me. "Nice bunch of giant spiders for the fifth years this year." I listened to him prattle on about creatures most people would be afraid of. After a long while, he stopped talking and just looked at me.

"What is it, Hagrid?"

"Well, it's just...Ron was here today. He told me about, ummm, about..." he gestured at me.

"Oh. Yeah. It takes some getting used to, I guess. I still startle myself in the mirror sometimes." I smiled ruefully, but Hagrid looked sad.

"I wish you and Harry would patch things up. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was–" 

I cut him off, rising from my chair in a single motion. "You're right. You don't know what happened. And I'm tired of talking about it." I slammed out of his hut, rage seething up again.

I intended to go back to my rooms to wait for my meeting with Hermione; instead my feet found their own way to our old dormitory. I hesitated outside at the portrait. The Fat Lady hadn't changed either. She beamed at me within her frame. 

"Good evening, Professor! Haven't set the password yet. Come in, you're always welcome here." The door swung open, and memories washed over me in a terrible flood.

I stepped into the room, my hands icy and trembling. I sat down in my favorite chair, nearest the hearth and snapped my finger to light a fire. The flames leaped up in the chimney, casting shifting shadows around the room. I rose and wandered around the Common Room, running my fingers over the same furniture, touching the paintings and walls. I roamed into our old room, sat down on the bed. I couldn't stop the memories of that place.

I remembered my first days here, days riddled with fear and illness. The nightmares, the self-hatred. Slowly coming to trust the people around me, making friends. Hermione and Ron's faces rose in my mind, still young and happy. Images of Harry also haunted me here; the long talks before the fire, the first tentative moments of intimacy in this very bed, waking up to his face in the morning light. Leaving. 

I sucked in a sharp breath, rattled by the tears on my cheeks. The left side of my face stung and ached, as it often did in this colder country, and I could feel the wetness as sharp as blades. I backed out of the room, pressing my hands against my eyes, trying to block out the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. I didn't see him until I backed into him. He grabbed my good arm as I tried to push past him, tried to flee.

"Stop. Anne. Stop." Harry's breath was warm and tingling on my face. He pulled me closer to him, out of the bedroom. 

"Anne. Please. Please talk to me." I could hear the ache in his voice, the low rumbling sorrow in the soft tones. I let him draw me down on the sofa beside him. I couldn't look at him.

"You don't have to hold onto me, Harry." I twisted my arm but couldn't writhe out of his grasp.

"I think I do. You like to run too much." His voice was steely, his eyes like green marble. "Aren't you supposed to be talking to Snape? Or are you hiding from everyone now?"

I made an irritable noise in my throat. "Not for a while yet. Why? Are you keeping tabs on me? I don't think I need you to baby-sit me, Harry." I paused to fasten my veils over the lower part of my face. Harry watched me curiously.

"Why do you still wear those?" He touched the edge of the veil carefully. I pushed his hand away automatically.

"Don't do that. I wear them because they're comfortable now. They let me go places without people looking at me." 

"But don't people look at you when you're dressed like that? I mean, veils aren't exactly the fashion this year." He tried to lighten the mood, a faltering smile creeping over his face.

"It's not fashion. It's cultural, religious. People still look, but they don't stare at me like I'm some kind of freak anymore. It's not like your scar, Harry. People don't look at me and think 'There goes a war hero.' They look at me and feel sorry for me because my face is ruined. I don't need pity, from anyone." I could feel the venom dripping from my voice and knew I was perilously close to turning my anger on him. I tried to pull away again but he grabbed my other wrist, forgetting that it was the bad hand.

My left hand still throbbed with pain on many days. Some days I wanted to cut it off at the wrist to stop the pain. The cool, rainy British summer hadn't helped soothe it, so when Harry grabbed the wrist, the pain was immense. My vision blurred and swam, my stomach rolled over in a sick, loopy flip, my knees buckled underneath me. Harry barely caught me before I slid to the floor. I huddled by the sofa, cradling my hand, my breath coming in harsh panting sobs. He was almost distraught.

"Oh, God, Anne, I'm so sorry. I forgot about your hand. I didn't mean to hurt you. Do you want me to go get Madame Pomphrey?" He was near tears.

I couldn't stop the chuckles. "No, no. There's not anything she can do other than sedate me senseless." 

I caught his eyes, saw that my laughter confused him. "Oh, Harry. You're the first person that's ever forgotten about my hand. You've made my day." I shook my head in affectionate amusement.

He let me laugh, waited patiently until I was more coherent. "Anne. I don't want things between us to be like this forever. I missed you so much. I still miss you, all the time." He was pleading now, his grassy eyes begging me to relent. 

"You missed me. You _missed_ me? You didn't miss me– you never even wrote me. You never sent word, you never let me know you were okay. You just left." The old familiar hurts echoed in my mind. 

"I didn't know if you were alive or dead. No one could tell me where you were or what you were doing. I'm sorry. I don't believe you." I rose and leaned against the window, pressing my burning forehead to the cool glass, shaking again. I heard him rise behind me, felt his hands on my upper arms.

"I didn't mean to disappear, Anne. I couldn't write– it was too dangerous for a long time." He squeezed my arms lightly. 

"I _tried_ to find you, at the end of the first big offensive. That would have been about two years after I left. I went to your Gram's house. She said you'd gone into the Ministry, but she didn't know where you were working. Nobody knew. I looked for you every chance I got, every time I was back in Britain. I had Hermione trying to find you, Dumbledore, everyone I could think of."

"You should have asked Snape." 

He stiffened behind me. "What do you mean?"

"Snape knew where I was the whole time." I turned to see his face. 

"I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew, if Snape knew, but they had to have known how critical their silence was. You're not the only person who did dangerous things in the war, you know."

"Why would Snape care? I would think he'd be more interested in keeping tabs on Malfoy and that lot." Harry was almost growling.

"He did. Malfoy turned Dark almost immediately. His father's footsteps, and all that bollucks. That was when I was still at school. Snape knew one of my professors and started out keeping track that way, writing to my professors about my progress. When I went into the training program for the Ministry position, he wrote a letter of recommendation for me and dropped a few words in the right ears."

Harry looked pensive. "I still don't understand why Snape is so interested in you. It's not like he was fond of you when we were at school..."

I was rapidly losing patience. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe he's just trying to be friendly. I don't know. At least he bothered at all." I could see the comment stung.

"Look, stop doing that. I can't change the past, no matter how much I want to. I never stopped thinking about you." I snorted derisively. His face reddened and he pushed me down into one of the chairs. I started up out of the chair, dangerously angry. His voice whipped into my ears.

 "Sit. Down. Don't talk, just sit." He turned away from me, breathing hard. I watched his broad shoulders rise and fall, his fists clench. He raked a hand through his dark hair, and I saw it for the first time.

I leaped out of the chair, as silent and swift as I had been in the war. I seized his wrist as his hand slid backwards in his hair and twisted his arm down between his shoulder blades. He yelped in surprise and, I'd bet, more than a little pain. He struggled to free his arm but I hauled down on it harder, almost immobilizing him. Gradually, I forced him to his knees in front of me. I stepped down on his ankles with one foot and flipped his hand back up over his head. He whimpered slightly as the blood rushed back into his hand, and I could feel the flesh throb with his pulse.

I stared at his hand. At the thin silver band that he still wore around one finger. The tiny engraved thistles. I knew if I took it from him and looked on the inside, it would have my name etched around the band. Our commitment ring. He was wearing it.

My eyes met his over the ring. He blinked away a few tears of pain and gazed levelly at me. I was frozen for a long minute, drowning in those moss-covered eyes. I reached into the inner pocket of my voluminous robes and drew out the thin silver chain that I always carried. The firelight danced across the slender silver ring dangling before Harry's face.

"I never took it off, Anne. Never. Not even when it was dangerous to wear it." His voice was hushed. I turned my eyes back to him.

"I had to take mine off, Harry. Muslim women just don't wear jewelry with men's names on them unless they're married. But I never was without it. When I couldn't wear it, I put it on Nejat– I knew she could always keep it safe even if I couldn't." I could feel the tears start, hot and painful. 

"I told her, if anything happened to me, to make sure Snape got it. I knew he'd know something bad had happened and would get it to you somehow. I–"

Harry dragged me to my knees, covering my mouth with his lips. His kiss was different than I remembered, demanding, possessive. He devoured my lips, eagerly biting my lower lip, probing after my tongue with his own. His hands were buried deep in my hair, pinning me against his mouth. He broke off the kiss, murmuring my name over and over. He pressed his face into my hair, breathing in my scent like a dying man gasping for air.

I was overwhelmed by the raw passion, the utter familiarity in his touch. I was unused to such kisses; in Turkey, I played the part of a courtesan but no man had touched me so familiarly in the whole five years I was there. Harry's hands slipped across my back, down along the spine, and cupped my bottom firmly through my robes. I stiffened in his arms, suddenly shy. He tried to capture my lips again. I ducked my head away from him, repinning my veil. His face crumpled slightly, confused by my reticence.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm just.... I'm...I'm not used to this anymore. I haven't been so close to a man in years."

"I thought seduction was a part of your job, Anne." His cynical tone cut to my heart. 

"Seduction was. Sex wasn't– at least, casual sex wasn't." His face was stormy and jealous.

 "Stop looking at me like that. I wasn't a prostitute, Harry. I didn't sleep with every man I saw."

"What _did_ you do, Anne? Exactly?" He lowered himself to sit on the hearth, pulling me down beside him. I stared past him into the fire.

"I made them think I wanted them. I entertained powerful men, made them happy for a while. Mostly they just wanted intelligent conversation with a beautiful woman, sometimes someone to have a few drinks with, go to state events, keep them company. Sometimes they wanted more than just companionship."

"More." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"I never cared about them, Harry. Never about anything more than getting every bit of information I could." I sighed. "I won't lie to you. I slept with several men, most of them repeatedly."

I looked him in the eye. "It was work, Harry. It was what I had to do. I didn't enjoy it, but I did it. And that's something I can't change."

He shook his head; I could hear his thoughts as loud as if he'd spoken them into the room. _Can I trust her? How do I know she isn't just putting on an act? Do I know if she ever really loved me?   _

I rose in a flurry of robes. Staring down into his startled face, I let all the venom of the last few years pour out of me.

"You don't know, Harry. And you won't ever know, because nothing I could ever say could convince you now. We can't start over– I was stupid to think so." I dropped the thin chain onto his lap, pushed away from him and strode into the hallway, slamming the door behind me.


	4. Chapter Four

I stormed down the hallway again, cursing and weeping. I wandered the school for several hours, trying to calm down enough to go back to bed. Just as I felt I was weary enough to sleep, I rounded a corner and came face to face with Severus. He stood at one of the long windows in the corridor, gazing out at the night sky. He looked more peaceful than I had ever seen him, and I suddenly wanted his company so badly I couldn't stand it. I stepped next to him, pressing my burning cheek against the cool window.

~~~~~~~

Snape studied the woman beside him carefully, remembering her reaction to Dumbledore's announcement. She couldn't know, not yet, that the very nature of Slytherin House had begun to change during the war. As the students she had known left Hogwarts, most to serve in the wars, fewer and fewer students like Malfoy entered the school each year. The Death Eaters marched across the land, taking with them any and all that would swear allegiance to Voldemort. Many such families had withdrawn their children, or never sent them at all; these children were sent to Durmstrang, the only wizarding school in the world to convert entirely to instruction in the Dark Arts.

Incoming students Sorted into the house tended more and more toward a sort of ruthless drive toward justice at all costs; they were disposed to logic, rationality, a cold impartiality, and an unwavering standard of conduct. Interestingly, Snape reflected, they were not always above violating their own code of ethics to exact justice on wrongdoers; minor ills were often ignored in favor of a greater cure, but that cure was always measured out without passion or regret. 

He turned to her, choosing not to mention the obvious traces of tears on her cheeks. "Shall we have that chat now, Professor?"

She nodded, distracted. He strode down the hall toward his office, and then noticed she wasn't following him. He paused. "Professor? In my office?"

She shook her head, a single curt motion. "No, Severus. You were kind enough to extend your hospitality for our last conversation. Allow me to extend mine now." She crooked a finger at him, turned on one heel and swept back toward her chambers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

It amused me to see Severus so distinctly uncomfortable in my rooms. He chose a seat in the corner furthest from the fire, in deepest shadow. I arched a brow at him and jerked my head toward the seat next to mine. 

"It'll be a bit hard to talk to you if you're hiding in the dark, Severus." He glowered momentarily, and grudgingly moved to a more comfortable seat near the hearth. I poured two cups of strong Turkish coffee, handed him one.

 "So. Are you supposed to convince me that Slytherin is my long lost home? The place I was always meant to be?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from seeping out between my clenched teeth.

He wasn't amused. "Professor Llewellyn. I would hope that you are able to maintain something of the open and inquisitive nature you had at school. Otherwise, this might be a very unpleasant experience indeed." 

His words struck me, a slap in the face more effective than any physical blow. I fidgeted, feeling like I was back in his class again and had just melted my cauldron. I suddenly realized how Neville must have felt, all those years. 

"You're right, of course, Severus. I apologize for my...reluctance."

He nodded an acknowledgment of my words. "It is understandable. The Slytherin of your time was not, perhaps, a desirable situation. However, I think that you will find the students have changed over time. There are a few of that ilk left, but the age of the Malfoys, I fear, has ended."

He sounded almost sad. "Severus. Do you miss them? Malfoy, and Crabbe, and Goyle– that lot? I wouldn't have thought you cared for any of your students." Why was I teasing this man? 

"Do not mistake impartiality for uncaring, Anne. I did care for my students, but in a different way perhaps than Minerva cared for hers. However. I cannot say, in honesty, that I liked most of my students." His voice was dour and dry, like leaves underfoot.

"I wouldn't have thought that of you, either. We always thought you approved of their conduct."

"No. Oh, on rare occasions I found their actions...amusing. For the most part, they were nothing like the Slytherin of my own time."

I didn't know what to say. My impressions of Snape had, apparently, been mistaken all those years. I was curious, now, and interested. "I take it you have plans, for Slytherin."

"Indeed. And I feel that you would be most useful in carrying out those plans. That is why I agreed with Dumbledore's assessment."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

~First Day~

Hermione led the new crop of first-years into the Great Hall. The students were nervous, chattering amongst themselves, overwhelmed by the spelled ceiling and the long rows of unfamiliar faces. Dumbledore rose at the front of the room, his hand raised in greeting. After a brief introduction, Dumbledore explained the Sorting process. Hermione unrolled the long scroll of names, calling the first student to take her place on the stool.

The other students shuffled and whispered, debating the merits of each house. Snape could hear a few words of their conversation, he winced visibly at the frequent linkage of "Slytherin" and "Malfoy" and "Death-Eater." He turned to the veiled woman beside him, whispered in her ear. She nodded slowly, scanning the crowd with black-rimmed eyes.

The ceremony wore on and on. Twenty new Slytherin, the largest group since years before the war, took their seats at the far right-hand table under banners of brilliant green. Dumbledore rose again, waving for silence.

"Before we proceed to dinner, I would like to introduce several new faculty members. Professor Granger, Transfiguration and head of Ravenclaw." He paused for thunderous applause. 

"Professor Weasely, Charms and head of Hufflepuff." Ron rose to shouts and cheers. 

"Professor Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts, head of Gryffindor." The applause was deafening, ringing around the room, on and on. Dumbledore finally motioned for silence.

 "And finally, Professor Llewellyn, Muggle Studies and second head of Slytherin."

Anne rose, dropping her face veil to reveal her scarred face. The Great Hall fell silent; several students gasped aloud at her appearance. She stood, silent and grim, feeling the weight of their disapproval press against her. Harry started to rise; she saw Hermione drag him back into his seat, shaking her head. 

As one, the students seemed to draw a long breath. The Hall erupted, students stamping and cheering and whistling. The Slytherin students shouted loudest, the older students throwing caps into the air. Anne was visibly shaken by the waves of sounds breaking against her ears, gripping the edge of the table to fight back a sudden panic. She sat, trembling, and ducked her head.

Snape nudged her foot under the table. She turned her head slightly toward him, embarrassed. "Do lift your head and sit up, Professor Llewellyn. That applause is for you; try to be worthy of it." She raised her head, grasping at the remains of her old family pride. Food appeared on the tables, ending the great sea of noise.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

I nudged Severus, leaned closer and muttered, "What was that about?"

He stared at me, eyes round in amazement. "Surely, you don't mean to tell me your grandmother kept you so sheltered. Did you not read a newspaper, talk to anyone, since the end of the war?"

"Not really. I was injured at first, remember? Then I just wanted to hide from the world. No one here has really talked about the war at all." I was deeply confused.

Severus narrowed his eyes at me. "You're famous, Anne. You're a hero. Every child in this Hall tonight knows what you sacrificed to save the world." He watched me, a glint of interest in his eyes.

"No." I didn't believe him. "That mission failed, Severus."

He shook his head, irritated. "No one told you, did they? That the imam you were supposed to target was killed during the distraction that your...accident...created? You're a walking advertisement for the Ministry counterintelligence, Anne— you should get used to it before classes start." He turned his attention back to his dinner; I couldn't suppress the feeling that he was deeply amused by my ignorance of my own history.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I struggled to keep myself under control, to keep my voice from climbing into the stratosphere. I gripped the table edge again. Severus glanced at me and carefully set down his silverware. He gripped my elbow below the edge of the table. 

"Listen to me, Professor." His voice was silky, just under the level of the noise in the hall. "I would recommend that you not dwell on your level of information any more than is absolutely necessary. There are many things about which you are not aware, things about yourself, things about your purpose in the war." He squeezed my arm, wrenching a slight gasp from me. 

"Now. Eat your dinner. We meet our students afterward, and it will not do for the head of their house to be in less than optimum condition." He released my arm, lifted his silverware, and returned to his meal.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I watched a swarm of students chattering and laughing in the Slytherin common room. Snape and I stood like twin shadows at the front of the room, waiting for the prefects to finish leading the new first years into the room. I felt light-headed, disconnected from the events around me. I put it down to nervousness and the shock of the evening meal, but I wondered if the fire was stoked too high– I was smothering in the intense heat of the room. Perhaps the heat was causing the slowly building nausea as well. I fervently hoped this initial meeting would be brief; I longed to escape to my own rooms and rest.

Once the room was full, seemingly to the rafters, Snape stepped forward and raised his hand. The room quieted, all eyes on him expectantly. 

"I will not waste your time with welcoming speeches or displays of insincere affection. You are all here because you have shown talents of the type that we in Slytherin find most important.

"However," he glowered around the room, catching several students' attention. "You will find that this House bears very little resemblance to what you might have heard." He allowed a few moments of murmured conversation throughout the room before waving for silence again.

"Before you allow yourself to be distracted by your fellows, I would reintroduce the other head of our house." He gestured me forward. 

"For all of you who are returning students, I will remind you that you will be expected to treat Professor Llewellyn with the same...respect...that you show toward me."

The students nodded as one. Snape glowered around the room for a moment more, then turned on his heel, gestured me through the door and started to follow me out.

"Cripple." The word hissed across the room, a whip crack in the silent room. My back stiffened as I swung around to face the room. In the moment before Snape turned on the room, I saw an ugly look pass between several of the older students. One, a thin dark boy that I reckoned to be at least a sixth year, sneered at me. Snape rounded, his face alive with fury, and pointed at the thin boy.

"Mr. McBaine, you will report to my office immediately after breakfast tomorrow to receive your detention. Fifty points from Slytherin for gross insubordination to a professor." He snarled the words at his–our students. 

"Anything further from you, Mr. McBaine? Your friends, perhaps? No? See that you mind your attitude, all of you." He whirled again, guiding me out the door with a hidden hand against my lower back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Snape closed the heavy portrait door, allowing himself the luxury of slamming the door quite hard. Anne stood by a window, her forehead pressed to the cool glass. He felt a strange pressure in his chest; she was...lovely. The moonlight pouring in through the long sheet of glass carved her face into pale marble, angles and planes thrown into negative relief by the bluish light. Her eyes glowed faintly, the frosty green almost white in the night shadows. He saw a frown crease her brow, the delicate lines between her eyes wrinkled, and she pressed her fingers to the spot briefly. 

He watched her unpin her veil and let the translucent fabric fall under her chin. He winced slightly as the moonlight threw her scarred visage into sharp relief; without intending to, his gaze fell onto her crippled hand, clutching into the sleeve of her robe. He stepped behind her, heard the agonizing rasp of her breathing for the first time. He paused, confused. She drew another breath, then almost strangled in a fit of coughing.

He reached for her instinctively as she swayed on her feet. He caught her under the elbows firmly, supporting her as she continued to cough. She leaned back against him, her shoulders shaking, the back of one hand pressed to her lips. Heat poured off her, even from that distance. Her face was clammy and shone with a thin layer of sweat.

His breath caught as her scent struck him; exotically spicy yet oddly familiar, cinnamon and cardamom and soft sandalwood swirled together throughout her veils. He lowered his face slightly, nearly touching the top of her head. He waited until the coughing subsided, but frowned as her breath continued to wheeze in her chest.

"Anne. How long have you been ill?"


	5. Chapter Five

~Anne~

His voice rippled against my ear, a rich stream of words and warm breath. I couldn't seem to regain control of my breathing, my chest felt tight and sandy, my head throbbed...I was acutely aware of his hands on my arms, the pressure of his chest against my back.

I gasped. I felt like I was drowning. I shook my head against his chest. "I'm not sick."

He sighed impatiently. "No, Professor. I suppose this is some sort of odd Turkish custom, nearly fainting in hallways." He turned me to face him, still gripping my arms. He studied my face calmly. "You need rest and Healing."

I shook my head again, pushing at his hands. "No. I don't need to go to the infirmary. I'll be fine, Severus. It's just a little cough– it's probably the weather." I tried to walk away from him, but the corridor reeled and rocked beneath my feet. He caught me again, this time lifting me into his arms in a single efficient motion.

"I disagree, Professor. Classes start in a few days; that should be sufficient time to get you back in good health."

He strode down the corridor. My head felt like a lead ball at the end of my neck. I peered around us, confused. 

"Severus." He ignored me. 

"Severus, you're going the wrong way. My rooms are back that way." I tried to point; it was easier to let my arm dangle.

"I am aware of the location of your rooms, Professor. I need access to my office to create the proper potions. Therefore, I am taking you to my rooms."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_She dreams, deep and terrible memories, blasted by sand and an unforgiving wind. She is alone in the desert in a raging storm, the wind ripping at her robes and driving sand into every opening. Her hair is torn from the veils, wrapping around her head, blinding her. A dark shadow rises out of the solid wall of sand, reaching for her. She lunges toward the figure, knife in hand and is seized by a hundred taloned hands. She fights against them, slashing out with her knife. The sand is hot, pouring into her mouth and nose, smothering her, crushing her chest with its weight. She tries to scream as the hands drag her backwards into the dunes..._

Snape stood over the woman on his bed, watching her dream. He stared into a silver bowl, eyes scanning the image within; he could see her dream as clearly as she could. He watched her fight against the grasping hands, her form on his bed wrestling with entangling sheets. He set the bowl down as Madame Pomphrey hustled into the room, carrying a tray of bottles and vials.

"I do wish you would let me move her, Severus. She seems to be worsening." The small woman laid a hand against Anne's forehead.

 "She's eaten up with fever. She needs constant care."

Snape waved dismissively. "I assure you, Madame Pomphrey, she is in good hands. She will not die." She glanced at him furtively, studying his face with keen eyes.

"Well then. I'll just leave these things here. They may be useful to you." She set the tray down on a bedside table and scurried out of the room. He rummaged through the items on the tray, more to keep his hands busy than from any real desire to examine its contents. He started, dropping the tray with a great clatter as a scream echoed from the bed behind him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

I leapt away from the hands clutching at my hair and robes. As a scream tore out of my throat, I sat upright among a tangle of bedclothes. Where was I? I stared frantically around the room, trying to find the things that had grabbed me.

"Professor Llewellyn." A deep voice flowed over me; a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

"Anne."

Severus sat on the edge of the bed, looking discomfited and extremely worried. I gasped for breath, fighting the oppressive liquid weight inside my chest. "What time is it?"

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "I am not sure. It's Friday."

I shook my head. "That can't be right. It's Tuesday. The students just arrived..." I trailed away at the look on his face.

"I assure you, it is Friday. You have slept– or something like it– for three days. Do you remember? You collapsed outside the common room."

I struggled with my memory, only vaguely recalling that night. "Why do I feel so...awful?"

"It seems that you have managed to contract a particularly nasty strain of the flu." He leaned over to the table, pouring an orange liquid into a tall glass. He handed me the glass, helped me to sit up enough to drink it. I winced slightly as the acidic liquid trickled down my throat.

"Unfortunately, quite a few of the students, as well as several professors, have fallen ill. Apparently, the disease is running rampant outside Hogwarts also. Fortunately, Madame Pomphrey seems to have the illness well under control." He took the glass from me, setting it carefully back on the table. 

"You will most likely spend another week in bed."

"But classes, Severus. They start on Monday– I have to teach–"

He cut me off. "Have no concerns, Anne. Albus has postponed the start of classes until all of the faculty have recovered." He pushed me back against the pillows.

I reached for the glass again; he shifted it into my hand. As I raised the glass to my lips, I was suddenly aware that I was not wearing the same clothing I had on the night of the Sorting ceremony. My hand twitched up to my head; my veil was also gone. My hair had been twisted into a single long braid that lay over my shoulder. I fiddled with the prickly end, hiding my blush. Surely, he hadn't.... I raised my eyes, caught his glance. He looked away, then back again.

"Miss Granger brought your clothing. She felt that you would be more comfortable in a lighter garment." He seemed embarrassed. I touched his arm with my good hand.

"Please, let her know I appreciate it. Day clothes aren't the most practical sleeping garments." I sipped at the juice. He fidgeted slightly, plucking lightly at the counterpane. He raised his head abruptly, looking me directly in the eyes. His gaze was penetrating; I felt as if he was taking me apart layer by layer. He started to speak, thought better of it, looked away. 

Intrigued, I touched his arm again. "What is it, Severus? Is there something you want to say to me?"

He looked at me again; his eyes were black and still. "There is. I must ask you about your dreams. I confess, I...eavesdropped on several of them. They...confused me." 

I flinched when he mentioned the dreams. "I'm sorry, Severus. I would never have wished you to see them." 

He started to speak; I believed to offer an apology. "I'm not offended. Please don't misunderstand me. I would not have chosen to burden you with such things."

His voice, when it came again, was softer than I had ever thought possible. "Tell me about them. Tell me about the dream you just had."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I wondered where you were during the wars. Gram told me you stayed at Hogwarts, during my last visit home before I left for Turkey. That's why I sent you that first message. I didn't know if you would, or could, respond, but I needed to talk to someone I knew." She shifted on the bed, seeking a more comfortable position. Snape helped her adjust a pillow.

"I didn't go to Turkey straight away. The Ministry sent me to the Gobi, to live with a tribe of Bedouin nomads–wizards and witches on our side– for about nine months to pick up the mannerisms and some rather specialized witchcraft. Incidentally," she sidetracked, "that's where I met Nejat. She belonged to the leader's daughter.

"Anyway, I had been with the tribe for about two months. We were migrating further into the desert to reach an out-of-the-way oasis. We were attacked. Someone must have intercepted one of the message hawks somehow. They knew where we were, and they knew I was with the tribe."

She shuddered and drew the counterpane up around her chin. "It was after nightfall, just starting to get cold. The men were out hunting, and we were putting the children to bed, drinking coffee, all those little things you do when you think it's an ordinary day.

"The attack literally came out of nowhere. One moment everything was quiet; the next moment, the camp was full of these...things...they started killing, anything that moved– women, children, horses. I pulled my wand and tried to fight back, but I was mobbed by a group of them. The last thing I remembered was being dragged into a sand dune, feeling the sand pouring down on top of me, cutting off the light..." her voice trailed away, her face tight and drawn. Snape stood and walked to the fireplace. He returned with a steaming pot of tea and two cups; he poured both and handed one to her. She drank deeply, relishing the heat.

"What were they?" He asked, although he had a good idea.

"They were something called afreet. Folklore calls them demons, but what they are really are a flying creature that lives in the desert. They're very quick, very intelligent, and vicious."

He nodded. "A favorite pet of the Dark." She glanced at him, startled at first. "I became acquainted with them during the first war. Not an animal I would wish to meet unprepared." 

He noticed a definite tremble in her hands. She was shaking now, barely able to hold her cup. He snatched at the cup as hot liquid spilled over the lip onto the sheets. He set both cups down on he table as she began to sob, then, after a momentary hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. She seemed to shrink; no, she really was that small. He marveled at her thinness, the wiry muscles that flexed in her shoulders and arms, the brittle sharpness of her joints. Her coppery hair brushed his chin, another dizzying wave of scent. She gripped his robe with her good hand, the injured hand cradled against her stomach. In a daze, he cupped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face; he stared into her pale eyes for a long moment, then pressed his lips to hers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~Anne~

I confess I was not expecting the kiss. As startling as the act was, Severus' eyes startled me more; they were anxious and fearful, yet flamed with longing. His lips were hard, at first, hungry and demanding. I flinched back from the pressure, my jaw aching from the illness.

He misunderstood the motion. He shot to his feet, drawing his robes around himself. His face was aghast, paler than normal. "I do apologize, Professor Llewellyn. Please, forgive my impertinence."

I cut him off, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of his robe. I tugged him back onto the bed and pushed myself into a sitting position. 

"Severus." I tried to make my voice as calm and quiet as I could. "Severus. What was that?"

He wouldn't look at me. "I am not precisely sure. I was overly tired, perhaps, or distracted by memories of my own experience with the afreet. I did not intend to compromise you in any way."

I chuckled to myself; he eyed me warily. "That's funny. I must be getting dense in my old age. I could have sworn that was a sincere kiss." 

I shook my head, teasing him. "I thought I had become a fairly accurate judge of a man's intentions, and I would have bet that was not a sympathetic kiss. I'm slipping– that's a shame, because-"

He made an impatient noise in his throat and rose from the bed.

"Please excuse me, Professor. I think perhaps it is time for me to retire."

He slid out of the room silently, leaving me to my own thoughts.


	6. Chapter Six

~Anne, One Month Later~

I stood at the window across the corridor from his room, gazing out at the silent grounds. The October moon was huge and white, floating above the expanse of woods below me like a great sailing ship. I pressed my forehead to the window, hoping that the cool glass would relieve the dull ache in my head. 

I had suffered from these headaches ever since the end of the war; during the first few months, I spent hours in bed, immobilized by a pain so intense that any motion or sound made me violently ill. This particular headache had been building all day; it had started that morning over breakfast and escalated steadily into a rotten ache by lunchtime. It was only exacerbated by an argument that erupted during my Muggle Studies class; young Mr. McBaine and his friends counted it as a point of honor to make my time with them a trial, and today they had picked a fight with several of the less aggressive Ravenclaws. It was a stupid disagreement, one that I could normally handle with little difficulty, but I had eventually dismissed the class because the pain in my head threatened to overwhelm me. I canceled my remaining two classes and huddled in my room, willing the pain to stop.

By nightfall, I was half crazy with the pain. Bright flashes of light ribboned across my vision followed by a creeping brownness that slowly obscured my sight. Terrified that I was going blind, I fled my stuffy, overheated room, pacing through the chilly corridors, keeping one hand on the wall to find my way. I was in tears by the time I reached his rooms. I pounded feebly on the door. No answer.

I leaned against the glass and let burning tears pour down my face. I couldn't collect my thoughts, couldn't form coherent sentences in my head. The room spun, slowly and sickeningly, around me. I gripped the windowsill for support. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I felt my stomach roll and lurch. I fought the urge to vomit, desperately afraid of being sick on the floor of the hallway. My vision continued to darken, the hall around me so dim that I couldn't make out the doorway immediately opposite me. Still sobbing dryly, I sank down onto the floor and wrapped my wool djellabah around me for warmth and comfort. I buried my head in my hands, pressing desperately at my skull.

It seemed that hours passed, although it may have been only minutes or even seconds. The faintest breeze crept in around the windowpane, breathing icy fingers down my neck. I tried to concentrate on the sensation, to focus my thoughts on something other than the writhing nausea in the pit of my stomach. I imagined movement around and before me, phantom sounds, voices that may have been passing students or just my own hallucinations.

A dark shape loomed out of the brown haze, a blur of black with no identifying features. I twitched away from the shadow, whimpering, regretting the sudden movement even as I did, pressed the back of one hand to my mouth to repress my need to gag. 

I whispered, "It's not real. It's not real."

The figure grew, moving closer toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it away.

"Professor Llewellyn?" The familiar, silky voice, coming as it did out of the darkness, fell on me like cold water. I stretched my hand out, tears dripping down my cheek. 

"Anne? What's happened? Can you hear me? What's wrong?"

I felt fingers, cool and thin, gently touching my face, turning my head from side to side. "Anne, if you can hear me, try to tell me what happened."

I grasped at one of the hands, clinging to him in terror. "Severus. Oh, thank God. I thought I was imagining it." A sharp intake of breath.

"Anne, how long have you been here?"

"I don't know. Severus, I can't see, it hurts so much, please, please do something. I can't see you..." I babbled at him hysterically. He touched my eyes; I heard him mutter beneath his breath.

"_Lumos_." I cringed, expecting a painful flood of light. Nothing. A few bright specks danced before my eyes. I felt the tears well up again.

"You can't see the light at all? Can you look at me? Don't try to see me, just look toward me." I obediently turned my face toward his voice; he turned my head gently and touched around my eyelids.

"Professor Snape?" A student's voice, somewhat familiar. "Is Professor Llewellyn ill?"

"Mr. Walker. Go to the infirmary and fetch Madame Pomphrey. Tell her who sent you, and impress upon her that her assistance is needed immediately. Then find Professor Granger and ask her to locate the Headmaster." A long pause. "Well, don't just stand there, boy. Go. Now." I heard the clatter of school shoes retreating down the hall.

"Anne, do you think that you are able to stand? I can take you in, you could lie down until Madame Pomphrey comes.."

I shook my head, only a fraction of an inch. "I'll be sick." 

He patted my shoulder, a sure indication that there were other students within sight, and took my good hand in his cool grip. I imagined that he was sitting back on his heels, an odd habit that reminded me of the Turkish men I had seen on street corners in Ankara. He spoke briefly to a voice that I recognized as belonging to a Slytherin prefect, Amanda Jacobsen; he reassured her that I was merely a bit ill, no need to worry. I envied the quiet calm in his voice. I felt like screaming.

"Madame Pomphrey is coming. You'll be taken care of." He started to rise but I gripped his hand more tightly. 

"Please. Don't go. I'm scared, Severus. Don't leave me." I felt him kneel again, squeezing my hand. I heard Madame Pomphrey making her way through what sounded like a crowd of students.

"Professor Snape? What seems to be the problem?" Her voice was crisp, controlled. Severus turned toward her slightly, never releasing my hand.

"I am not precisely sure, Madame Pomphrey. All of you, return to your dormitories. Professor Llewellyn will be fine. Thank you all for your concern." 

A pause. "Prefects, if you would please corral your houses and return to the dormitories." I heard feet moving away, prefects calling the names of their houses. The corridor stilled.

"We should move her out of the corridor, Severus. It's drafty, and she can't be comfortable. Anne, dear, can you walk on your own?" I shook my head, another tiny movement.

"No matter, Poppy. I am not yet so feeble that I cannot assist her cross the hall." Severus stood, then, in a single fluid motion, lifted me off the floor into his arms. My stomach lurched unpleasantly and I choked slightly. 

"If you would be so kind, Professor, please try to refrain from emptying your stomach until I have put you down." I smiled slightly, grateful for the distraction.

I heard the heavy oak door swing open; Severus stiffened slightly. "Headmaster. Thank you for coming." Dumbledore must have Apparated directly into Severus' rooms. I caught a whiff of lemon as we entered the room. Severus took three or four strides, and then laid me down on a soft surface that I assumed must be his bed. I closed my eyes, reveling in the deep pillow.

Madame Pomphrey bustled about me, touching my face, asking dozens of questions about the pain, the darkness, the nausea. Her voice sounded more and more tense the longer we spoke. I swung insanely between moments of perfect clarity and absolute hysteria, weeping and shaking. I stopped twice to vomit into a basin that Severus procured from his laboratory. Finally, she sighed. 

"I'm just not sure. It's not anything I've ever encountered before." She sounded weary, defeated.

Severus snapped at her from the bedside. "What do you mean, you're not sure? Surely you can find out? Poppy, she can't see. There has to be a reason."

"I know what it is." Hermione's voice, warm and assured. "Pardon my Apparating, Severus. I came as quickly as I could." The bed dipped slightly as she sat down.

"Miss Granger." Dumbledore's voice, strong but muffled– he must have a lemon drop. "You said you know what ails Miss Llewellyn?"

"Yes. My mother has the same problems. Luckily, it's not dangerous. It's actually fairly common among Muggle women."

"What is it?" Severus was frustrated, his voice strained. "Can it be cured?"

"She has migraines. They can't be cured, but they can be controlled and prevented. It's easier to stop them if you take a painkiller early on. Once it gets this bad, though...my mother used to take a sleeping pill and go to bed. The headache would be gone the next day." 

She patted my hand gently. "It's really not as sinister as it seems, Anne. We just have to figure out how to keep them from getting this bad."

Madame Pomphrey spoke first. "Hermione, dear. Would you be willing to look into the treatment of these...migraines? See what Muggles do, and what we can do for Anne?" I was sure Hermione must have nodded.

"In the meantime, I have just finished preparing a Sleeping draught for my classes tomorrow. I will make a portion for her." I heard Severus rustle out of the room.

Hermione took my hand. "Anne dearest, do you want us to take you to your own rooms? Would you be more comfortable there?" I heard the unasked question beneath her words: don't you want us to get you away from Snape? I pressed her fingers.

"No, 'Mione. If it doesn't bother Severus, I'd rather not risk throwing up just now."

"I would much prefer that you remain where you are and not muck up my carpets. Professor Granger, let me reassure you that no harm will come to Professor Llewellyn if she chooses to remain here. She is, after all, the second Head of Slytherin. I would not risk her safety, if for no other reason than that."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The others finally left. My head was still throbbing, and the noise of their conversation had nearly driven me to weeping again. I sighed deeply as the door thudded closed.

"Your friends are still most protective of you." I heard the tone of amusement in his voice. He sat back down on the bed, slipped an arm around my shoulders and helped me sit enough to drink from the glass he pressed to my lips. The potion was bitter, like chewing aspirin, and I grimaced.

"Don't stop drinking. You must take it all." He insisted until I drank the whole glass. He lowered me back onto the bed, and sat with me as I drifted off into a blessedly painless sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I woke at some point that night, feeling hazy and disconnected. My mouth was terribly dry and my throat was scratchy as sand. I sat up in the big bed, gathering the counterpane around my waist. My vision had improved a bit; I could make out the outlines of furniture against the walls.

Desperately thirsty, I slipped out of the bed and padded to the door. I pushed slightly, surprised when the door swung open easily. The next room was a sitting room, comfortable but somewhat sparsely decorated. There was a fire, just beginning to die down. I saw the outline of Severus' head, nodding in a large chair to the left of the fireplace. I padded over to the chair. He was sitting with a large book in his lap; he had obviously been reading for some time, as the cold cup of tea by his chair attested.

I hovered on tiptoe, unwilling to disturb him. He looked incredibly tired, his face drawn with fatigue. I edged around the chair, moving slowly as a dizzy spell made the room tilt underneath my feet. I clutched the edge of the chair trying not to make any noise. Severus started, saw me clinging to the back of the chair, and flowed out of the seat like black smoke.

"Anne. Do you need something?" He took my arm, helping me to the sofa. I swallowed, feeling my throat click and catch.

"Something to drink? My throat is so dry..." My throat clicked and clenched shut as I tried to swallow.

He nodded, poured a cup of tea from the kettle by the fire. He added sugar and a bit of milk– the way I always took my tea– and handed the cup to me. I drank for ages, it seemed, before setting the cup down on the low table before the sofa. Severus knelt on the carpet in front of me.

"How is your head? Did the sleep help you?" He studied my eyes, noting my reactions and the effect of the lights on my pupils. I nodded.

"I feel...hung over."

"That's normal. You would feel better if you had slept through the night. You've only had about four hours of sleep." 

He touched my face again, the cool fingers soothing my hot skin. I sighed slightly, enjoying the cool pressure. The probing fingers stopped abruptly. I opened my eyes. He was staring at me either in surprise or shock; I couldn't tell. I searched his face for a clue to his thoughts. He continued to just look at me, still holding my head between his chilly hands.

"Severus? What is it?" I was beginning to worry; he had an odd expression on his face, one that I couldn't place.

"Nothing. Your vision is not quite normal?" He resumed his examination.

"No, not yet. I can see you, as long as I'm fairly close to you. The rest of the room is like looking through a fog." 

I let him turn my head to the side so that the light from the fire shone into my eyes. "My head is a little better, though."

"Mmm. You were dizzy, just then." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. It happens after the headaches." 

He released my head and rose to sit on the sofa beside me. He was surprisingly elegant, his slim arm draped across the back of the sofa, one ankle propped on his knee. I curled my legs beneath me and leaned my head on the back of the sofa. His brow creased slightly.

"Are you still tired? Perhaps you should go lie down again." 

I was oddly touched by his concern. I touched his fingers lightly.

"No, I'm alright. I'll sit up for a while." I paused, remembering the exhaustion on his face earlier. 

"Severus, why don't you go to bed? I can sit, and I don't mind sleeping on the sofa if I get tired."

He shook his head emphatically. "Tomorrow is a weekend. I am sometimes accustomed to late evenings. I don't mind sitting with you." 

He sipped at his cup, frowned at the contents, and dumped the cup into the fire. I watched him pour himself another cup of tea and settle back onto the sofa. 

"Now. Tell me about these headaches of yours. When did you first start having them?"

I sighed. The man had an unrelentingly inquisitive mind; presented with a problem, he would poke and pry at it until he solved it. 

"They started right after I was injured. The Healers in Greece thought I had a head injury." 

I stopped at his puzzled look. "Oh yes, I'm sorry. My colleagues Apparated me as far away as they could. They were afraid that the Death Eaters would track us down, so they thought it expedient to remove me from the country." 

I paused to sip my tea. "I don't know if you know any, but Greek Healers are incredibly gifted. They saved my eye, and as much of my hand as they could."

He took my hand, examining it closely. I allowed him to trace the network of scars; no one at school, other than Harry, had looked at it so closely. Then he turned my head to study my eye closely.

 "They did an impressive job. Unless I'm mistaken, those scars look like you actually lost that eye."

I nodded. "I did. There was a piece of glass that penetrated my eye. Like I said, they're amazing, but then the headaches started. They didn't know what to do, either. They were worried that a fragment had caused a head injury, that I might have a clot or something. They pretty much kept a deathwatch for the first three weeks, thinking that something would rupture at any moment. When nothing happened, they sent me home to Gram."

He nodded slowly. "I assume nothing changed, once you were home."

"No. Well, yes. They weren't as frequent, but they were always terrible. I used to beat my head against the wall. Gram was terrified that I would actually crack my own skull." 

I smiled ruefully. "I haven't had one since I came here. I was hoping they wouldn't come back."

He pondered for a while, staring into his cup. "Anne. Has it occurred to you that your headaches might be related to other things?"

I was bewildered. "What do you mean?"

He set his cup down, shifting on the sofa. "Is it possible that your headaches happen when you are under strain?" 

I started to reply; he waved his hand irritably. "No, no, let me finish. You were under an immense amount of pressure after the wars, were you not? You have often told me that people would stare at you wherever you went– that cannot be easy, especially among Muggles. And, convinced as you were that your mission had failed, one could easily imagine that you might make yourself ill."

I nodded slowly. "I can see that. But, Severus, I've not been under pressure here. I love my work, people have been so wonderful to me–"

"And you have to see Potter every day, at meals, between classes, in the corridors." His words shocked me into silence. He brushed my shoulder with his fingertips. 

"Anne. I do not intend to upset you further. But it has not escaped my notice that these encounters trouble you. Of course, you are also teaching your first classes, which is quite stressful, as I remember."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Was it so obvious, the maelstrom of emotions that I felt every time I saw Harry?  I thought that I had been able to hide my feelings, to cover the enormous anger and betrayal I still felt. I turned away from Severus, covering my mouth with one hand, trying to press back a sudden nausea.

He leaned anxiously toward me, placing one hand on my arm. "Anne. I'm so sorry. Please. I did not intend to hurt you." 

His face was creased with anxiety, his dark eyes troubled. I couldn't look at him. Waves of embarrassment washed over me–how obvious had I been, that even Severus had noticed? I felt a single, shameful tear roll down my cheek. I wanted to flee the room, to hide from his prying gaze and his questions. How many other people had seen what he had seen and pitied me because I was so obviously bereaved? I pushed myself off the sofa, blindly stumbling to the door, plucking at the handle.

He was beside me in an instant, surging off the sofa in a storm of inky robes. He slammed the door shut with the flat of his palm, grabbing my upper arm with the other hand. He gripped my arm as I tried to struggle away from him, propelling me back into the room. He thrust me into his chair by the fire, trapping me there with one hand on each arm of the chair. I ducked my head away from him; he seized my chin in one hand and gently twisted my face to look at him.

"You cannot run from the difficulties in your life forever. I would think the state of your health would be ample evidence of that." His eyes were flashing, deep pools of anger. He shook my chin, firmly but gently. 

"Is it not enough for you, that you suffer every time you see him? Must you ruin yourself, your health, to prove that you still hurt? Anne, your pain is more than obvious to everyone around you. You do not need to convince us of your misery by driving yourself into an early grave." His voice rose to a near shout, the words ringing in the small room.

I tried again to wrench my face from his hand. "I am not mourning him, Severus. They're only headaches. There's nothing wrong with me that a little rest and a good medicine can't help." 

He stared at me, outrage written plainly on his face. "Nothing wrong? Do not try to lie to me, Anne. I have seen you, hiding, changing your routes to and from class. You're not eating enough, you are not sleeping– I would be willing to bet you're having those nightmares again. Do you think I never noticed when you were a student?"

Stunned into silence, I could only gape at him. I never imagined that he knew what I went through, that first term. His face softened somewhat, his eyes studying me closely. 

"I do not watch over only Slytherin students, Anne. I never have. Albus informed me of your difficulties in Toronto. I made it my business, after...the one incident...to be aware of your whereabouts, to know any time that your friends may not be as close as your enemies. It was the least I could do, having failed to divert Titus Malfoy."

He turned away from me then, his back ramrod straight, the fire throwing a nimbus around his dark form. "You know I kept track of you, during the wars. Actually, I kept up with many of your fellow students, but I was particularly intrigued by your choice of employment. Your grandmother obliged your former professor, sent word of you whenever she could. And I do still know a few people high up in the Ministry who did not need to know why I was so interested in your activities."

"Why?" His interest in my life should have been disturbing; oddly, I was more comforted by the thought of him watching over me during those years.

"You were a brilliant student. You were much more talented than any other student in your year. You took my class seriously when others did not; you seemed to want to learn what I taught. More than that-- after that first term, you never backed down from me. You argued, you contradicted, you _defended_ yourself. That impressed me."

I couldn't help smiling. "It certainly impressed the others. They used to wonder why you never poisoned me just to shut me up." 

I shook my head, remembering Ron's incredulity whenever I managed to survive another encounter with our Potions master.

Severus turned back to me, smiling slightly. "The thought did cross my mind on one or two rather memorable occasions. I suppose it would have been easy to concoct something you couldn't produce an antidote for. However, I was generally more preoccupied with Mr. Longbottom and his tendency to strew destruction wherever he went."

"Well. Thank goodness for that, then. I should have thanked Neville for sparing my life, poor boy." I sat in silence for a while.

"Severus?" He inclined his head toward me, acknowledging his name. 

"Why did you never write me? If you knew where I was, and what I was doing, you must have known when it was safe to write. Why didn't you? I would have welcomed your letters."

He fidgeted slightly, rubbing his jaw. He gazed around the room, then looked directly at me. 

"I never wrote because I did not know if you would answer."

I chuckled, but gently. "Severus, you continue to baffle me. Of course I would have answered. I would have been grateful to hear from you." 

I reached out, took his icy hand in my own. He startled slightly, but I refused to let go. 

"I thought of you, sometimes. Lying in our tents, in the desert. The stars go on for leagues, the sand was almost like water. I used to lie there at night and wish I was back here, hemmed in by green hills and mountains. I almost lost my mind, those first few months; I'd never been under such wide skies before. I'd lie there and pretend I was back in class. I'd go over and over the formulas you taught us, hearing you correcting me whenever I got one wrong." 

He was staring at me, that same strange look on his face. Impulsively, I pressed his hand to my face, his cool fingers soothing my suddenly burning face. I glanced up at him as his fingers curled around my jaw. He knelt, still touching my face. His eyes bored into me, dark, wide, and incredulous. I leaned forward, letting my hair swing against his shoulder, and placed my lips carefully against his. He grew very still, his breathing shallow and quick. Slowly, his mouth softened under mine, his hand crept up into my hair, cradling the back of my head. His lips moved against mine, a firm, tender pressure. His tongue touched my lower lip delicately, tasting me. I wrapped my hand in his robe, pulling him closer to me as the kiss deepened. I sighed into his mouth.

He broke away from me at the sound. His motion was so abrupt that he sat down upon the floor quite hard. He stared at me again, confused and startled.

 "Anne. Please. Forgive me. I did not mean to be so forward." He touched his lips with a trembling hand.

I pulled back into myself, wrapping my robe around me. "I should apologize, Severus. I was forward, not you. It was inappropriate of me, I know." 

I rose, gathering my robes around me. "I should go. Obviously, I need more sleep, in my own bed."

I slipped out the door before he could stop me again.


	7. Chapter Seven

~Severus, One Year Later~

She sits by the fire in my room, a slight figure in blue and black sipping a cup of that damnably strong coffee she loves so much. I cannot understand how her hands are so steady– after a single cup my own nerves are destroyed and I shake for hours. She told me once that she had drunk so much of the thick, black concoction during the wars that she could no longer sleep without it. She laughs at me, the rare occasions that I give in to her offers, as I struggle to finish the minuscule cup and then pace my dungeons for hours.

Those are the nights she needs me there, I know, and so I cannot refuse what she cannot ask of me. The coffee is always strong, but her fears are stronger by far. I know that our hours of conversation are deliberately engineered to stave off sleep, to prevent those horrible dreams. We have an understanding about those nights; no matter how busy or tired, I always come to her. In return, no matter how upset she is, how lost in fear or memory, she always talks.

I cannot say I enjoy those evenings. Though it has been a year since she returned, some part of me cannot reconcile the girl she was with the woman who sits before me. Her voice still startles me, harsh and broken when it was once so sweet that the simplest song almost made me weep. She does not know that I listened then, as she does not now know that I mourn the loss of her voice far more than the loss of her face or her hand. I reflect often on the twist of fate that took exactly half of her beautiful face– the same twist, perhaps, that pushed her into a temperament shadowy enough to complement my own.

In a bizarre way, the precise bisection of her face attracts me. She has become a physical microcosm of her soul, so balanced between love and bitterness, optimism and despair. She has lost her one great love; he is also scarred by the wars–but then, he was not the one abandoned for a noble cause. He is a hero of his own choosing, while her heroism was born of desperation and anguish.

Perhaps this is why she cannot, will not, return to him. I have seen him, trying to make amends, trying to recapture their past. She doesn't trust him anymore, cannot quite understand his devotion to duty even to the sacrifice of his own happiness. Dumbledore was right– she is no Gryffindor now.

Perhaps it was that need for security, for constancy that drove her towards me. Perhaps it was the simple knowledge that I am no hero, will never be a martyr to any cause. I have played my part, surely, working in the shadows, always out of the path of danger. I cannot flatter myself enough to believe that she fancies my face or body; after her young love, an older man such as I certainly would not be her first choice. The fact that I have kissed her twice in the last year is irrelevant. No. She appreciates my company, and that is all. 

I wonder if she knows how often I study her face, how many times she has almost caught me staring. Does she know that she is exquisite? Her hair is slowly darkening after months away from the desert sun, returning to the deep cinnamon color it was when she was a student, and her face is gradually losing its deep tan. Her eyes are still the same, frosty slices of jade, though she still affects the inky black kohl that makes them seem twice their size. Her face is stronger now than it was when she was a girl, weighted with hardship and the memory of terrible deeds.

I watch her now as she gazes into the fire, a momentary pause in our conversation. I persuaded her to sit a while, although she is not in the mood for talking; I invented some desire to learn more of the Bedouin witchcraft she is so versed in. I doubt she realizes that tonight I am the one who needs her presence, that this time it is I who would stave off sleep for a while. 

I want her here. It is no more complicated than that. I do not fear dreams or darkness or memories; I merely want her near me for a while longer. She is a silvery bright presence in my rooms, a lovely moment in a tedious day. She turned to me; I looked away quickly, pretending to examine the contents of my cup. I had mercifully managed to avoid drinking her coffee but my nerves were still fluttering like a trapped bird. I felt her eyes on me, piercing through my defenses as deftly as my own spells.

"Why I am still here, Severus? Surely you are not so fascinated with desert arcanum that you would lose so much sleep?"

 Her face was not so much puzzled as slightly amused, the eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. She waited long moments for my answer, then rose fluidly and pinned her thin veil across her face. 

"I should go. It's late and Nejat needs feeding." She turned to leave the room; I set my cup down hastily and struggle from my own chair. I laid a hand on her arm.

"I will escort you to your rooms." 

She eyed me, again amused. "The halls are neither so dangerous nor so long that I cannot find my own way."

I grasped her elbow firmly. "Credit it to my gentlemanly impulses, then. Allow me to walk you there, Anne." 

She relented, taking my arm and placing her good hand over the bad against my forearm. I wanted to cover her hands with my own, restrained the impulse.

We strolled along the corridor in a comfortable silence. It was a Friday night, and many of the students were gathered in the halls. I glared at them, obliging their expectations of me, and they scattered to their own common rooms. She chuckled beside me almost inaudibly.

"You do that deliberately, Severus." I nodded solemnly as she chuckled again.

We reached her rooms, lingering by the heavy oak door. She cut a glance at me from the edges of her huge eyes. 

"Would you care to come in for a while?" Her voice was gentle and inviting.

"I would not wish to keep you, if you are tired. Besides, I believe you mentioned that your companion needs tending." It took a great effort for me to release her arm. I turned to go but was stopped by her hand on my elbow.

"Please. Stay." I was startled; her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I'll make coffee." She laughed aloud at my sour expression.

Her rooms were surprisingly exotic, located as they were within this crushingly British place. She had arranged around her reminders of her desert life; the air was warm with foreign spices and sweet Turkish flowers. No matter how often I had sat in this same room, I noticed something different every time. She motioned me toward what had become my customary seat, a chair upholstered with fine Arabian leather that was slowly molding itself to my form. Her own chair, covered in Persian needlework, was closer to the fire, revealing her lingering problems with the cold. She raised her wrist, murmuring Arabic to the dusty falcon on the curtain rail. The bird dropped from the railing, landing delicately. She held a frog to the bird's beak, smiling as the treat was snapped out of her hand. The bird returned to her perch with her prize, and Anne wandered into the other room.

She returned, carrying a silver tray laden with cups and pots. She set it down, poured a dark liquid from one pot, and handed it to me. I sipped cautiously, expecting the mind-numbing coffee, surprised to find sweet, milky tea instead. She grinned at my astonishment.

"Oh come. You don't honestly think I didn't know that you hate my coffee?" 

She was teasing me, I knew this. She seemed to enjoy it so, watching me grow uncomfortable. I ignored her as best I could, sipping from the cup again. Her chuckle was husky, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

We sat for a while, each thinking our own thoughts. She broke the silence.

"Severus." I raised my eyes to hers; she had a questioning look on her face.

 "May I... ask you something?"

"What is it, Anne?" 

My mind raced over the possibilities. She set her cup down on the small inlaid table at her elbow and flowed out of her chair. She had not lowered her veil yet and her eyes were huge and icy against the inky blue fabric. She knelt at my feet, a puddle of dark fabric against the bright oriental carpets.

"Severus, what are we doing?" She scrutinized my face. "What have we been doing, these last few months?" 

Her arms crossed on my knees, chin propped on her forearms. I noticed, peripherally, that she was not hiding her maimed hand; she had grown more comfortable with me since she returned. I shifted in my seat, suddenly too warm.

"I believe that we are enjoying each other's company, Anne. Sharing conversation, exchanging ideas. You are not, I assume, unfamiliar with our acquaintance?" I forced a slightly bored tone into my voice, trying to avert her suspicions that I might feel otherwise. She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the tops of my thighs.

"Is that all?" I said nothing, only gazed at her levelly. 

She tried another tack. "Severus, would you say that we have become...friends?" I pondered this for a while, then nodded curtly.

"I suppose that one might say we are friends, yes. Although I am sure that many of our colleagues would express surprise." 

She chuckled again. "I'm sure our students would be astounded as well. I don't think they believe that any of the professors actually have lives outside the classroom." 

She gazed at me a long while; I could see her calculating her next words. Abruptly, she turned away from me to face the fire. Her form was dark against the leaping flames, a thin nimbus of red outlining her head, shimmering through her layered veils. She seemed suddenly smaller, more vulnerable. 

I touched her shoulder tentatively. She jumped slightly. "Anne. Are you all right?"

She turned back to me, suddenly furious. "No, Severus. I'm not okay. I'm very not okay, in fact. I don't understand you at all." 

Her face flushed above the veil, her eyes blazing at me. I drew back into my chair, aghast, unable to speak. She flowed to her feet, towering over me.

"Are you blind, Severus? Or are you really as completely clueless as you come off? How is it that we can spend, what, four evenings together out of every week for months and months, and you just don't see it?"

I sat, frozen in my seat. I struggled to form words that I thought would calm her. 

"See what, Anne? Please, enlighten me in my ignorance." 

She drew a deep, shaky breath; her hands wrung together nervously. I could see her courage deserting her. She turned to flee. I was long acquainted with her tendency to avoid difficult situations by running away– I had seen her do it to Potter many, many times. I lunged out of my chair, grabbing the wrist of her good hand. She whipped around to face me, her eyes angry and refusing to meet mine. I pulled her against my chest, pinning her good arm to me to keep her from bolting. She struggled against me; I wrapped my other arm around her shoulder, trapping her. She stopped suddenly, panting fiercely, then dropped her head onto my shoulder. We stood for a long moment.

"Anne. Calm yourself." She yanked against my hand.

 "Stop it. I will not let you run from me." I waited until she stilled again. 

"Now. I know you well enough to know that you had more to say to me. Please be kind enough to continue."

She raised her face to me; I was taken aback by the tears glittering in her eyes. She shook her head. 

"I can't. It was just a silly thought. I was obviously wrong. I let my temper get away from me. Please, let it go." It was my turn to shake my head.

"I think not, Anne. I do not believe that any thought which has you so upset is just the result of temper. Tell me what you're thinking." I gazed down at her, longing to touch her face. She looked up at me again, her face troubled.

"Can't you see?" She closed her eyes briefly. "Severus, I think I'm falling– have fallen–in love with you. I thought you knew."

My breath stopped in my chest. I couldn't think clearly– had she really said what I thought she said? I sucked in air, gasping like a drowning man. Her eyes glowed up at me, glazed with tears and anxiety. I stared down at her, trying to catch my breath. She smiled wryly, a cynical twist of her lips barely visible beneath her veiling.

"I see. I'm sorry, Severus. I see I did mistake your intentions. I feel so foolish." She looked away from me, blushing.

I seized her chin, turned her face to me. I gazed into her eyes, willing her to see what I could not quite say. I reached across her face, loosening her veil until it fell to the floor, freeing her deep cinnamon hair. It slid onto her shoulders in a rich auburn flood, filling the air with a faint perfume of cardamom and sandalwood. I stroked her cheek, hesitantly, not wanting to frighten her. Her eyes closed languidly as she leaned her face into my hand. I cupped my palm around her jaw.

She sighed slightly, a warm breath against my palm, and I lost control of myself. I lifted her face, sliding my hand down the length of her neck, and brought my lips down on hers. Her mouth was soft and firm, meeting my desperate hunger with ferocious need. Her tongue touched my lips tentatively; my own tongue met hers, exploring. I plundered her mouth, tasting the bitter exotic spices of her coffee mingled with her own smoky flavor. She moaned deep in her throat, clutching my robes in her good hand.

I plunged my hands into her hair, pulling it to my face in fistfuls, breathing in the clean scent of it. I felt intoxicated, dizzied by her body stretched full length against my own. I broke away from her then, taking her good hand in mine. She grinned mischievously as I led her to the bedroom.

~~~~~~

~Anne, the next morning~

I woke with a start; someone held me, muscular arms wrapped around my upper body. I was disoriented, lost in a dream I only half remembered, a dream of stunning green eyes all mixed up with inky black robes. For a moment, I thought I was in Harry's arms.

"Mmm." I froze. "Anne. Are you awake?" 

The voice was too deep, too silky to be Harry's voice. I stared into the half-light, wrestling with my memory as the person's left hand cupped my breast. I looked down at the arm; burned into the pale flesh was a dark, twisting design.

The previous evening rushed back into my mind. I sighed, relieved. Severus. I pressed my head under his chin, felt his lips against my hair.

"I'm awake, Severus." I twisted around in his embrace until our noses almost touched. He smiled at me, his dark eyes flickering over my face. I traced his jaw with one finger, then kissed his firm lips. He twined his fingers in my hair close to the base of my neck, drawing me to him, deepening the kiss. I broke away from him, smiling up at his wondering face. I touched his cheek.

"You look happy, Severus." He blinked at me. "I've never seen you smile like that before."

He chuckled dryly. "You should see your own face, Miss Llewellyn. You look positively giddy."

I grinned at him again. "What time is it?" He shook his head. I scrambled over him to the other side of the bed, turning the filigreed silver owl clock so I could see the face.

"Severus! It's almost time for breakfast!" I vaulted out of the bed, my bare feet slapping on the stone floor. Severus stretched lazily as I scurried around the room, trying to locate his clothes.

"Why don't we just skip breakfast?" His voice was low and teasing. "We can have something sent up." I stared at him. He _was_ handsome...

"Tempting, but no. How would it look if you asked for breakfast for two to be sent to my rooms? It would be all over the school in minutes." I grabbed his hand, tugging him to his feet. "No. We have to put in an appearance, just like normal. Do you need to go change?"

He shook his head, amused. "No. I dress fairly consistently. No one will notice if I happen to wear the same garments two days together." He slipped into his trousers, smoothing the soft fabric over his narrow hips. I felt a twinge in my belly as I admired his body appreciatively. He half turned toward me, pulling his shirt on over his shoulders and eyed me solemnly.

"Shouldn't you also be dressing, Anne?" I shook myself slightly and padded over to the large wardrobe. I contemplated my choices, settling on a pair of black trousers and a soft gray tunic. I hurried into them, shoved my feet into soft leather slippers and sat down at the dressing table to arrange my makeup and veils. I outlined my eyes with kohl, almost without watching in the mirror. I chose an opaque, dove gray veil out of a drawer and started to wrap it over my hair. Severus appeared behind me in the mirror, drawing the veil down around my shoulders, laying it aside on the bed.

"Don't wear it today." His voice was throaty and thick with lust. He stroked my hair, coaxing it into a neat braid, tugging a few strands free around my face. He rested his strong hands at the base of my neck. I preened under his touch like a cat, rubbing my cheek against his forearm. He patted my shoulder, moving away from me to slip on his shoes and robe.

I stared at myself in the mirror. The strands floating around my face softened the sharp angles of my cheekbones, created the illusion of fuller cheeks. My eyes, rimmed in dark pencil, were huge and sulky. I almost didn't recognize myself. I touched my scarred cheek, self-conscious, and started to lift the veil off the bed. It was tugged sharply away from my fingers. Severus caught my eye in the mirror.

"Anne. Don't." I suddenly felt miserable, terribly afraid to leave my room for the first time since I had left Edinburgh.

"Severus, I can't. I'm not ready..." He was behind me again, cool hands on my shoulders, steadying me. His eyes met mine again, his voice calm and even.

"I want to see your hair in the sunlight." I stared at him, still shaky. His brow creased slightly. "Anne. I promise you that no one here will treat you badly because of your injury. You know this. You are safe here, everyone knows you. No one _cares_ how you look; they only care about you."

He coaxed me onto my feet, helped me into my robes, and escorted me from the rooms.

~~~~~

We entered the Great Hall together– not an entirely unprecedented event, since we often met in the corridor between our rooms and walked together to discuss students or lessons. He pulled out my chair for me, also not obvious, and took his seat beside me below the long Slytherin banners. I smiled down the table at Hermione and Ron; they flashed matching grins in my direction. I looked away as Harry slipped into his own place beside them. I caught Dumbledore's curious look from the corner of my eye. I nodded at him, then started eating.

The faculty, for a change, lingered at the table long after the students left the hall. I sipped at a cup of tea, deep in discussion with Professor Flitwick; he was quite interested in some of the Charms I had picked up in Turkey. I was midway through description of an unusual levitation spell, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Hermione stood over me, supporting her hugely pregnant belly with both hands in the small of her back. Professor Flitwick offered her his chair; I promised to come find him later and demonstrate the levitation spell. Hermione settled herself into the chair and sighed. Severus, no doubt expecting girl talk, eyed us warily, excused himself and slipped out the back entrance. Hermione watched him leave, a speculative expression on her face. She turned back to me as the heavy door closed behind him.

"All right. What's going on?" I ducked my head, sipping my tea.

"What do you mean?" I heard her snort derisively.

"Oh, come on Anne. Late to breakfast, no veils, hair down, completely ridiculous grin... Something's going on, and I want you to tell me what it is." She snitched a piece of toast from my plate.

I debated silently. If I didn't tell her, she would just figure it out on her own. If I did tell her, she might tell Harry...I sighed and met her eyes.

"Let's go for a walk– are you up for it?" She nodded and I helped her out of her chair. We passed Ron and Harry on the way out; Hermione paused to let them know where we were going. I looked away so I wouldn't have to meet Harry's eyes.

We wandered out of the Great Hall, across the small courtyard. I wanted to get well away from the school proper before I told her. I waited until we were out on the lawn to stop and face her.

"You're right, 'Mione. There is something. But you can't laugh or get upset or anything like that." She watched me, slightly concerned. I took a deep breath. "I think I'm in love."

She gaped at me, then hugged me fiercely. "I _knew _it. I told Ron but he didn't believe me. Who is it?"

"It's Severus." Her jaw dropped, her eyes grew wide. She sat down on the grass, hard.

"'Mione, are you okay? Do you need to go in?" She pushed my hands away.

"No, I'm fine. It's just...a little surprising. You..and...Severus?" Her face was bewildered.

"Yes. We...we...umm...we..." I was too embarrassed to tell her about the night before; my cheeks flamed. A slow grin spread across her face.

"Did you do what I think you did?" I blushed harder. "You _did_. You naughty thing. Was it good?" 

I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "It was. It was better than good, 'Mione. It was...amazing. I haven't felt like that in so long. He's..he's not like we always thought. He's so...intense, and passionate. He's tender too; he was so gentle, but demanding at the same time." I peeked at her face; she was studying me with a bemused, affectionate smile. 

"Is he good to you?" I was surprised at the question; I had expected her to say something cutting.

"He is. He was very careful–God, 'Mione, he was actually nervous at first, like he was going to break me or something." I grinned with the memory. "But later..."

She grabbed me in another fierce hug. "I'm so happy, Anne. We've been worried about you, Ron and I. Ever since you came back. You were just so unhappy all the time. We thought things would get better when Harry got back, but..." She trailed off, leaving unspoken all her disappointments at our failed relationship. She shook her head. "I'm still not sure I believe it. You and Snape...But, as long as you're happy, I'm happy."

"'Mione." I gripped her arm. "Please. Don't tell too many people. I mean, I know you'll tell Ron– that's no problem– and Dumbledore probably already knows, but just...we're not really ready to tell everyone yet." She nodded gravely and patted my hand.

"I promise, Anne. I certainly won't tell a certain someone, either. Not just yet. But look, help me up from here. I think I've got a damp spot on my skirt."

~~~~~~

Once back at the school, I went looking for Severus. He wasn't in either of our rooms, nor was he in the dungeons working. I gave up eventually and sought out Professor Flitwick for an engrossing hour of Charms work. I had just taken him through the steps to enchant a carpet to fly, a Charm that had been lost in Britain since after the first war, when Severus swept into the classroom. His face was stormy, his voice its usual cold flat tone.

"Professor, could you kindly spare me the loan of Professor Llewellyn? The Headmaster has requested her presence." I smiled briefly at Flitwick and followed Severus from the room. His back was ramrod straight, his sooty robes swirling around his ankles. He ignored my confused questions until we arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Before he uttered the password, he turned to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Anne. He's going to ask you about us. He knows what happened. He isn't angry, but he wants assurance that you were not...coerced in any way." His voice shook slightly. "I told him that you were willing. That we have...feelings for each other. Anne. I need to know, before you go in there. I need to know that it's true." His face was terrible. 

I took his icy hands in my own. "Severus. You know me. You know what I did in the wars." I smiled at him. "If you had tried to force me, do you think you'd be standing here, all body parts intact, having this conversation?" He was still grave. I touched his face, cupping my hand against his jaw. "I wasn't coerced. I was more than willing." I stepped away from him.

"Anne." His voice was pleading, his hand gripping mine tightly. I smiled again and kissed his lips.

"There are feelings, Severus. You were not mistaken in that." I stepped into the entryway as Severus spoke the password.

Dumbledore sat at his crowded desk, stroking Fawkes. I sat in the chair he motioned towards, and stretched out my hand to scratch Fawkes' beak. Dumbledore lifted the bright bird back to his perch, offered me a cup of tea, and settled back in his chair. I waited. He seemed almost embarrassed, fiddling with objects on his desk before looking at me over the tops of his spectacles.

"Professor Llewellyn. It has come to my attention that a certain situation has arisen between you and Professor Snape." I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging his statement. He nodded slowly. "Anne, before we have this conversation, I must tell you that I do not disapprove of the situation, provided, of course, that both of you were willing and aware. I am merely concerned, as I would be for any member of my staff or, as you may recall, for any of my students."

I did indeed recall. Harry and I had been summoned for a similar discussion after my first Christmas at Hogwarts. Dumbledore would not, I knew, try to dissuade me from pursuing the relationship; he merely wanted to make sure that we were both happy.

So I told him, all the things that I had told Hermione and more. He listened carefully as all my confusion about Harry also spilled out of my mouth, all my anger and hurt and betrayal. He smiled slightly as I told him about Severus; I didn't go into detail about our evening together, but I explained all the feelings that I had for this odd, reclusive man. He waited until I was done, then leaned forward in his chair.

"Are you certain, Anne, that you are not doing this out of some desire to hurt Harry?" The question took my breath away. I sat, stunned, turning the words over in my mind. Slowly, I shook my head.

"No." I was amazed to realize that it was true. "No, Albus. I don't know if I can ever really forgive Harry, but when I think about Severus, all I know is that I love him. I love _him_, despite all his strangenesses."

Dumbledore twinkled at me. "I do believe you love him, Anne. I had sincerely hoped that was the case. Severus has been hurt before; I do not wish to see him hurt again. While I have the utmost concern for you, Anne, I also know that you would be more than capable of recovering from a disastrous liaison. I am not so sure about Severus; I do believe that another broken heart might kill him."

He rose from behind the desk, handed me out of the chair and escorted me to the staircase. 

"Now, I believe that someone is anxiously awaiting your return. Go on. Just remember– if you ever need to talk, I am always available." I hugged the old wizard impulsively, startling a smile from him. He patted my shoulder.

"I think I know what he sees in you, my dear. You are indeed cheering." With that, he activated the hidden staircase.

Severus was pacing the corridor outside the doorway. He froze as I stepped out of the entryway, his face a mask of tension and worry. He strode over to me, halted a few steps away.

"Anne. What did he say? What did you say?" I smiled at him reassuringly.

"It's all right, Severus. I told him everything. He just wants us to be happy." He swept me into his arms, hugging me fiercely. His face was buried in my hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pushed me to arms' length and scanned my face desperately. I nodded; he hugged me again, less ferociously this time.


	8. Chapter Eight

We were happy throughout the long, cool fall. We settled into a comfortable routine of meals, classes, and nights alternating between his rooms and mine. Hermione and Ron often joined us at the end of the long table for lively discussions. Severus was reluctant at first to join in, perhaps fearing to let go of his habitual defenses. He talked more later, but was always guarded around them in ways that he was not when we were alone; I didn't fault him that, for the aloofness generally masked a deeper desire to listen and observe.

Hermione's baby came in October, a tiny redheaded bundle of laughter and energy that had her father running ragged. The five of us fell into a loose family; I was asked to be little Sara's godmother. Hermione and I became closer; she was the first real girlfriend I had ever had and I found talking with her reminded me much of my relationship with my sister. We were happy, all of us. Perhaps that is why we never noticed the sixth, hovering around the outer edges of our close-knit cabal, watching and aching.

December was a harsh month at Hogwarts. The weeks before the students returned– for they had all opted to spend the holidays with families and friends– were bitingly cold and dreary, long beyond bearing. I spent hours in the library, overpreparing for my classes, or in the laboratory with Severus, or the classrooms with Flitwick. Hermione and I practiced simple Bedouin Charms together, and I taught Ron a form of chess I had learned in Jordan. He lost the first dozen or so games to me, but by the end of the second week of playing, he was cleaning the board with me.

I often noticed Harry, drifting, it seemed, always at the fringes of our lives. He played with Sara sometimes, but tended to spend hours in the practice arena or on the Quidditch pitch. He seldom joined us at meals, preferring to stay at the far end of the table, or, more and more often, to eat in his rooms. He quit coming to meals altogether just before Christmas holidays. Had I not been so content, I might have noticed something wrong before it actually happened.

We were at supper one evening in January; Dumbledore had requested a special dinner to celebrate an ancient Persian lunar holiday I had told him about. The food was sweetly familiar, the spices and rich flavors I remembered so well. The others were fascinated with the food, asking all sorts of questions about the ingredients. Hermione quizzed me on culture and history; they were all astounded when little Sara burst out with her first words. Ron wasn't particularly pleased that her first words were in Arabic, but he seemed much happier when I reassured him that she had actually said "Mama" and "Papa." Severus laid his hand over mine on the table and I leaned back into his shoulder as we watched Ron fuss over the baby and his wife.

I was only peripherally aware of movement from the corner of my eye, a blur of motion across the table from us. I jumped when an object smacked down onto the table in front of Severus. Harry stood, rigid and pale, glaring at Severus. Severus slowly withdrew his hand from mine, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"Mr. Potter," he drawled, his voice level and dangerous. "You do not know what you are playing at. Pick that up and return to your seat before this gets out of hand." Harry merely crossed his arms, waiting.

I was confused. "Severus, what is it?" I reached for the object on the table. Severus' hand lashed out, gripping my wrist with surprising force.

"Don't touch it, Anne. Don't pick it up. Leave it there." He narrowed his eyes at Harry, still grasping my wrist. "Think carefully, Potter."

"Are you afraid, Snape?" Harry's voice was different, hoarse and cruel. Hermione pulled me away from Severus's side, circling her arms around my shoulders.

"'Mione, what's going on? I don't understand. What's happening?" I watched, strangely anxious, as Severus slowly picked up the object from the table. It was a leather glove, Gryffindor red. He drew himself upright, then flung the glove back at Harry with a vicious motion. Harry caught the glove before it fell to the floor. A sardonic smile twisted his face as he bowed and strode out of the room. Severus dropped back into his chair, breathing hard.

I tried to pull away from Hermione, to go to him, but Ron leaned his weight on my shoulder. "Leave him be, Anne. Let him think." Ron's cheerful face was set and grim.

"Would you tell me what just happened here?" I could hear the edge in my voice, the slight note of panic. Hermione hugged me tightly.

"You're from a Great Family, and you don't know?" Ron knelt in front of me, holding my hands. "Harry's challenged him, Anne. They're going to duel."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Why, Severus? Why not just let it lie, ignore it?" I was furious with him, yelling across his laboratory. 

He was calm as always, his face immobile. "I could not, Anne. It is a point of honor. You should know that."

I wanted to scream. "Oh, damn your honor, Severus. As for what I do and don't know, my family gave up that barbaric custom generations ago. I can't believe you took it up. Besides, you don't even know why he challenged you."

He tilted his head, amused. "I do, and I've been expecting it for some time now. Better to finish it now, before the students return." He crossed the room, pulled me into his embrace. I clung to him.

"Why? Why is he doing this?" I heard his chuckle, deep within his chest.

"He thinks I stole you away, Anne. Actually, I believe he thinks that I seduced you, or gave you some kind of potion, that I have you against your will."

"I can't understand why you're willing to duel him for some silly misplaced jealousy. What if you get hurt?"

"Do not worry, Anne. I doubt very much that either of us will be severely injured. He is angry, and hurt, and he needs to do something to work that out before it eats him alive. I've seen him, watching us, for weeks."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Three days later, we all met in a small grove just outside the edge of the Forest. Within the circle of trees was a small stone circle, remnants of some mysterious tribe of centuries past. The grove was largely unused; it was a traditional dueling circle in the years before Voldemort. 

Hermione and Ron were both there, having left little Sara with Professor Flitwick, who preferred not to attend. Dumbledore was there; I was only vaguely alarmed to see that Madame Pomphrey and Fawkes accompanied him. The rest of the staff stood around the outside of the circle, a barrier, it seemed, between the world and the combatants.

Harry stood at the far side of the circle, wrapped in dark green robes. He was examining his wand carefully, gauging the dimensions of the circle. I caught his eye once; he was grim, his eyes hard and flat. I shivered at that look, wrapped my grey woolen robes more closely around me. Hermione slipped her arm around my waist, comforting me.

Severus stepped into the circle, a tall figure in jet-black robes. An icy breeze swirled his robes about his ankles, lifted his hair in an inky nimbus. He glanced toward me, once. He strode to the center of the circle. Harry also stepped to the center. Dumbledore placed a hand on each man's shoulder, muttering a few words. They nodded, then turned to face away from each other. Dumbledore returned to the edge of the circle. He counted as they took five paces away from each other.

They spun as one, wands snapping toward each other.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Trust Severus to try to disarm his opponent first; I knew he didn't want to hurt Harry, just bring this thing to an end as quickly as possible.

Harry was not of a similar mind. He sidestepped the spell, casting his own spell with frightening accuracy. Severus was thrown off his feet, slamming into the frozen ground. I flinched at the sound of the impact; Hermione gripped my hand. Severus levered himself to his feet; Harry's next spell caught him off guard and flung him into one of the tall standing stones. I heard bone crack. His wand dropped from his broken hand.

"Stop." I whispered. Ron restrained my instinctive motion. "Ron, please stop them. He's been disarmed. He can't defend himself." 

Ron shook his head. "It's not over until one of them yields, Anne."

I struggled against Hermione's hands as Harry towered over Severus. A spell hissed out of Severus' mouth, but without enough strength to be effective. Harry lowered his wand.

"_Cruciatus."_ Severus' body wrenched in pain, his back snapping into an excruciating arch, face contorted in agony. He was driven to his knees, arms outflung.

"Stop it! Someone, stop them!" I was screaming now, fighting desperately to tear myself away from Hermione. She was sobbing at Ron, begging him to do something.

"_Cruciatus_." Harry cast the curse again. Severus screamed then, unable to stop the horrible sound from roaring out of his chest. A trickle of blood seeped from his nose. Harry lowered the wand again.

_"Cruciatus_."

"_No!_" The sound, unearthly and tremendous, tore from my throat. I shoved Hermione away from me, blind with terror. I chanted at the top of my lungs, Arabic pouring from me in a torrent. I flung a shimmering bubble around Severus, sealing him from any further attacks. I could feel power building in me, feeding on my anger, tearing my veils away, my hair cracking and sparking, a hot, dry wind lifting my robes and blasting across the small clearing. I chanted louder, my voice rising in a chilling ululation, calling on desert spirits from a distant country. The air raged around me, full of sand and lightning.

I advanced on Harry, blinded by anger and the white-hot power surging through my body. I raised one hand, flinging spells toward him so quickly he couldn't duck. He wand was torn from his hand to bury itself in the stone behind him. I flung him away as easily, his body tossed across the clearing like paper. I was shaking with the need to release this energy, my teeth gritted against the onslaught of words that would strike him down. I wanted him to be afraid, to see my face and know that he was seeing his death.

His eyes caught mine, pleading and terrified. The world seemed to stop for a moment. A voice rang out in my head, cutting through the din of magic.

"He is still the person you loved." It was Severus, shouting at me from the golden bubble. I turned my head toward him; he lay on the ground, stretching one hand toward me. "Anne. You have to stop."

The anger drained out of me. I cried out in anguish as the ancient power seared my flesh; it would turn on me now that I could not use it against Harry. I spun away from him, slammed my palms flat against the ground. The ground rippled, surging from the sudden influx of power. The grass scorched and blackened, a circle ten feet across left smoking and dead. The hot wind faltered and died.

I huddled against the ground, shaking and panting, sweat dripping from my nose. Gentle hands lifted me to my feet. I looked into Dumbledore's cool blue eyes. 

"That was the best decision for all, Miss Llewellyn. Now, go see to Severus. I will take care of young Mr. Potter."

I stumbled the width of the circle to the spot where he lay. Madame Pomphrey hovered at the edge of the shield I had thrown up, unable to penetrate it. I tore it down, allowing her to rush to his side. I dropped to my knees, gently touching his face. He groaned painfully and opened his eyes.

"Anne? Is he...did you?" I stroked his cheek, smiling tenderly.

"He's alive, Severus. Thanks to you."

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

Severus was in the infirmary for a week. I sat by his side constantly, leaving only to eat and bathe. My own palms were seared, covered in tiny blisters that broke and wept and required frequent tending. Madame Pomphrey feared that I would be permanently scarred. I argued that one more set of scars would hardly be noticed.

Hermione and Ron came by often, bringing me hot cups of tea and little Sara, who was as much a help to Severus as she was to me. Dumbledore also visited; we had a long discussion of the duel and my actions.

"I didn't mean to interfere, Albus. I just couldn't stand by and let Harry kill him." My voice trembled.

He patted my hand. "I understand completely, Anne. I am, however, most interested in your...capabilities. When, precisely, did you learn to summon that kind of power?"

"I've never done it before. I heard about it from some of the old Bedouin women; they used to talk about a sorcerer who could call the spirit of the desert to do his bidding. I found the spell months ago, in the library. But, Albus, I only read it once. There's no way I could have learned it well enough to use it." He twinkled at me.

"I think you may find, Anne, that your latent talent for Arabic is merely one aspect of a greater talent. I will have to make enquiries, but I have a theory that your power is somehow attached to your time in the desert. And please, if you remember what book you found it in, I should be most interested in reading it."

He left me to puzzle over his words. I was still pondering them, holding Severus' hand as he slept, when someone spoke behind me.

"Anne. May I come in?" Harry. I turned toward him warily, placing myself between him and Severus' bed. He shook his head ruefully.

"I've not come to finish him off, Anne." He dropped into a chair some distance away from us. "I came to apologize, to both of you." I stepped away from Severus' bed, gently disentangling my bandaged fingers from his. I sat down in the chair next to Harry and waited.

He sighed, a bleak sound. His eyes were troubled, glazed with some emotion I couldn't identify. "I am sorry, Anne. I know that it sounds trite, that I could never make up for what I've done. I was hurt, and jealous, and still so much in love with you. I was confused and angry, and I took it out on him. Every time I looked at you, saw you two together, I kept thinking that it could have been us. It should have been us." He dropped his head into his hands.

I studied him. "Maybe it would have been, Harry. If not for the wars, what we did, how we left things. But we have to live now, Harry." I reached out tentatively, stroking his dark hair. "I still care about you. I want you in my life, but I need you as a friend now. I love him, more than I ever thought I would love any person ever again."

Harry grabbed my shoulders, hauling me into a huge hug. We clung together for several minutes; I prayed fervently that things would be better.

We both jumped as a rough voice spoke from the bed. "Mr. Potter. I trust I will not have to challenge you once I get out of this infernal place." Severus pushed himself up on the pillows, wincing as he did so. "I am not convinced that either of us would live through the experience a second time."        

I squirmed out of Harry's arms and took Severus' hand. "You would not, not either of you. Next time, I'll just let you kill each other, and I'll run off with Flitwick." Severus glared at me from the bed. "Oh, stop looking stern, Severus. You're going to rupture something. Harry and I were just talking. It was long overdue."

Harry stepped up to the bed. "I came to apologize, sir. I was very foolish, and...I'm sorry."

Snape stared at him for a long time. I began to worry that he wouldn't relent, that he would refuse to accept Harry's apology. He sighed finally.

"Very well, Potter. I expect I'll try to poison you at some later date; let us call it even for the time, shall we?" The two men nodded at each other. I couldn't help smiling.


	9. Chapter Nine

~Spring~

"Oi! Anne! Coming to the game this afternoon?" Ron's voice rang out across the lawn. I glanced around to see if any students had heard the informality; luckily, the courtyard was deserted. I smiled briefly, waving at him. He trotted up to me, still tugging at the laces of his black-and-white referee's uniform. I swatted his hands away playfully and tied the laces in a neat bow.

"I don't think so, Ron. I promised Hermione I'd visit today. I think she's fobbing Sara off on Flitwick again, since it's Saturday and all." Ron grinned broadly; he was head over heels for his daughter, but often said that Hermione needed to get more rest. I hugged him quickly and hurried the rest of the way across the courtyard.

I slipped into the Great Hall just ahead of Dumbledore and settled myself at the far end of the faculty table. The other professors filed in; Severus took his usual seat beside me, and Hermione sat on the other side. As breakfast appeared, we chatted about our classes, certain students, the upcoming Spring holidays. Halfway through the meal, the post arrived, owls of every description swooping and diving around the room.

A sudden hush echoed through the hall. A strange bird hurtled into the hall, sweeping silent and low over the frightened students. Snape rose halfway from his chair; Hermione ducked below the edge of the table as the bird soared past us. I shoved myself away from the table, strode to the center of the room, and raised my arm, calling to the bird in Arabic.

"Bilal. Come." The massive bird settled onto my wrist, shaking rusty black feathers onto the floor. The bird was hideous; dirty black feathers topped by a snaky, wrinkly red neck that supported a head partially thatched with grayish feathers. Two yellow eyes blinked foully from the bird's head. It eyed me and clicked its beak. 

I untied the message tube from the bird's scaly leg, trying to avoid the carrion-soaked breath. The bird hopped onto my shoulder, nibbling at my ear. I winced as he bit down a little too hard.

"Bilal. Stop that. Go home. Tell him I'll send a reply–if needed– by Nejat." I waved my hand at the horrid thing, startling it into flight. I looked up from the tube; every face in the hall gaped at me. I smiled, signaling that all was well, and returned to my place at the table.

Hermione tugged at my sleeve. "Anne, what was that...thing?" I smiled at the revulsion in her voice.

"That, dearest, was a hooded vulture. Nasty, foul-tempered things that happen to be unshakably loyal to a single person."

Severus frowned. "Who would have such a disgusting bird?"

My brow wrinkled. "They make very unobtrusive messengers in the desert. There's always something dying somewhere, so a vulture wouldn't really be noticed. Bilal belongs to an old acquaintance, someone that I worked with in the wars." I pried the lid off the tube with a fingernail and unrolled the long strip of parchment on the table. It was densely covered in flowing Arabic script written in a dialect that I had to struggle to remember. The others continued eating as I slowly deciphered the message.

I felt my stomach roll over in a queasy motion. I felt light-headed, like I was floating just above my body. The room seemed dim, the sound of students muffled and distant. I stared at the parchment, reread it over and over, willing myself to have mistranslated.

I was only vaguely aware that the students had left the room. The professors lingered over cups of tea or coffee, exchanging pleasantries. I closed my eyes, a last-ditch effort to wake up from what was rapidly becoming a nightmare. A dull, familiar ache throbbed between my eyes; I pressed my fingers to the rotten pain and breathed deeply.

I heard Severus' voice as if from a great distance. He touched my shoulder, shaking me slightly when I didn't answer him. I turned to him; his face was puzzled and slightly concerned.

"Anne? What is it? Is it bad news?" Hermione leaned over my shoulder to glance at the scrap, but although I had been teaching her Arabic, I knew she wouldn't be able to read this dialect. I rose from my seat, feeling suddenly years older. Severus rose also, gripping my arm. Hermione and Dumbledore closed in around me. I stared blankly into Severus' eyes.

"It's from the Ministry. I've been recalled to duty."

~~~~~~

Severus paced our rooms, his inky robes whipping behind him like thunderclouds. "I do not understand why you are even considering this, Anne. Whatever they say, you do not owe the Ministry anything; not more time, not one last assignment, nothing."

Dumbledore leaned forward from a chair by the fire. "Miss Llewellyn. Perhaps it would be useful if you explained to us, as far as you are able, the nature of the assignment and the necessity of your involvement." 

I sighed. "It's not exactly classified information, Albus, since it has really nothing to do with our world at all. At least, not yet." I added the latter hastily, intercepting Severus' next objection. "They need me in Egypt. There's a religious leader there, some kind of prophet, who claims that he is the Mahdi– the Messiah. He's preaching some pretty nasty things– anti-Semitism, end of the world, uprising, reclaiming the faith, that sort of thing." 

I peeled off my djellabah and hung it on the back of the door. I slid my feet out of my thin leather slippers and padded across the bare stone floor to start tea. Halfway to the other room, I stopped to answer a knock on the corridor door. Hermione and Ron piled into the room, followed closely by Harry; the two men were still in their Quidditch referee uniforms, while Hermione struggled to restrain Sara. I took Sara from her mother and continued on to make tea.

I rattled around in the kitchenette for a few minutes, heating water and entertaining Sara with a Moroccan rattle. She looked sleepy, so I strung a woven sling over one shoulder and arranged her against my chest. Moving cautiously, I carried the tea tray back to the sitting room. Hermione took the tray from me so I could settle into my usual chair.

Severus was still livid. "What possible reason could you have for doing this? Surely you aren't interested in the workings of Muggle superstition?" He towered over me, arms crossed, scowling fiercely.

I sighed. "Actually, Severus, I am very interested in 'Muggle superstition,' as you call it. But that's beside the point."

"And what, pray tell, is the point?" Sarcasm coated his voice, a sure sign that he was aggravated by my own resolute calm.

"Well, first, I owe someone a favor. But more importantly, these people are gaining an immense amount of power and popularity. If this continues– and it will– they will be in a position to influence some very dangerous people."

Severus sneered at me. "And why, exactly, does this concern our world?"

"Because, Severus. One of the very dangerous people that they are beginning to influence happens to have access to nuclear weaponry. Our world or not, if this little holy crusade gets violent, there may not be any world left for us to be concerned about at all." We glared at each other over Sara's head.

Dumbledore stepped between us. "Severus, I think you should sit down and try to calm yourself. Now. Ann." His blue eyes twinkled at me. "Tell us what it is that the Ministry wants from you."

I fished the strip of parchment out of my pocket. Reading carefully, I explained the mission to them. "It says that the Ministry needs me to go back to the Bedouin tribe that I was with in the wars." I set the strip down to explain. "This particular tribe is mostly wizards and witches; they work for the Ministry in various capacities. They will get me from Sinai to Cairo, where I'm supposed to pose as a convert to this movement, gain access to the leader, and remove him."

Hermione stared at me. "Anne, what do you mean, 'remove him'?"

I smiled wryly. "It is exactly how it sounds, 'Mione. He has to be stopped, and the sooner we can take him down, the less likely it is that his followers will set him up as a martyr."

Dumbledore broke in. "And how does the Ministry want you to accomplish this? Is the leader well guarded? I assume that it will be difficult to gain access to him."

"Most charismatic leaders are flattered by potential converts, especially female ones. As for the actual removal, I have no idea how it will be done. Something will come to me, I'm sure." I picked at a thread raveling out of the sling, then stroked Sara's downy hair. Severus spoke from his corner seat.

"And how do they think you will be able to get in and out of Cairo without being recognized? Not only have you lost your tan, but you are fairly noticeably disfigured– do you imagine that you will not be remarked upon?" His voice was chilly and tight. I pressed my lips together to restrain a cutting remark.

"Thank you for your assessment of my appearance, Severus. If I were to go as I am now, I would surely be recognized. However, you underestimate the ability of a veil to hide its wearer's identity. Plus," I smiled slyly, "I do have a few tricks of the trade, as it were."

Severus narrowed his eyes at me. "What do you mean?"

I raised my hands to my face, chanting a simple Charm in Arabic. I swept my hand over my face and along the length of my braid. I heard the others gasp; Ron and Harry burst out laughing while Hermione began firing questions. Severus looked gratifyingly startled. I rose from my chair to check the effect in the mirror. Staring back at me was a young Bedouin woman, large green eyes framed by jet-black hair that framed a perfectly oval, olive-skinned face. I turned my head to the side, admiring the lack of scars. I laughed suddenly, amused at my own Charm.

Severus appeared in the mirror behind me. He touched my hair, incredulous. "Fascinating. You still look like yourself, only...Arabic." He rested his cool hands on my shoulders; I laid my own hand over his fingers. 

"It's always a little disconcerting at first. Then you get used to it, and it's strange when you go back to being yourself. But it's not hard– Sara would be able to learn it a year or two from now." Hermione frowned, considering, I'm sure, the difficulty of keeping track of a child that could change her appearance at will. "Don't worry, 'Mione. I promise I won't pass that spell along until I teach you how to detect it." I snapped my fingers, releasing the spell, and smiled at my familiar reflection.

I gazed around the room at my friends. For the first time since I had joined the Ministry, I was reluctant to take on an assignment; I had my doubts about going back to a tent in the desert, eating starchy foods and getting sunburned. Damn. This must be how Harry felt, always driven by duty and responsibility.

"I have a month to get ready. Albus, that should be plenty of time to wrap up my classes and exams, provided you can do without me at the final dinner." Albus nodded. "I will need some help preparing, research and whatnot. Hopefully Hermione can help me with that." She smiled, eager to get started, I could tell. "I'm also needing to get back in condition; Harry and Ron, I'd appreciate your help with that." I sighed, leaning back in the chair. 

"What about while you're away? Is there anything we can do here?" Harry's voice was low and steady. "Do you need someone in Cairo in case something goes wrong?" How like him, to offer to rush into an unknown situation...

I shook my head, regretful. "No. We have plenty of operatives in Cairo, people who know the city and know the people we're up against. I would, though, ask you to be alert here. We'll figure out some way to communicate, some kind of code, and if I need you, I'll send for you. Oh, Albus, that reminds me. One of my colleagues is coming, in about a week. We need to plan, go over maps, work on an idea. May he stay here for a while?"

Albus considered. "I believe we have a few spare rooms on the faculty wing. He may stay as long as necessary." He twinkled at me again. "I don't suppose, Miss Llewellyn, that your compatriot would be willing to speak to your classes? A guest lecturer might provide a bit of excitement."

I grinned. "Actually, Albus, he might be a far more interesting guest for the Defense classes. That is his specialty. I'll see what I can arrange."

We talked for another hour, dividing up research needs and planning exercise sessions. I noticed, after a while, that Severus still sat apart from us, silent and brooding in the corner. I glanced up from a page of writing and caught his eyes. We gazed at each other for several moments. I turned back to our work, but wrapped up the discussion quickly and suggested that I was rather tired and needed some rest. Ron and Harry protested, but Hermione and Dumbledore, catching my subtext, urged them out. Hermione lifted Sara from my arms, patted me on the shoulder and followed the men out.

~~~~~~

We continued to sit for a while. I leaned back into the chair, suddenly exhausted. I closed my eyes and pressed my thumbs into my brow, seeking out a lingering ache. I heard fabric rustle as Severus rose from his chair; I sighed, assuming he was going to his laboratory to be angry. I jumped when his cool fingers touched my forehead. He pushed my hands away from my face, gently massaging my temples and brow. I felt the ache easing slightly; he worked his fingers along the sides of my head to my tightly knotted neck. He silently kneaded at the rocky muscles, coaxing them into relaxation.

After a few minutes, he spoke. "Anne. I am sorry I reacted so strongly to your decision. I still cannot agree with your decision, but I would have you know that I am willing to assist you in any way you need."

I smiled into the fading light. "What I need from you right now is exactly what you're doing. There will be ways that you can help, Severus, but I need you nearby more than anything else." He continued to work at my shoulders, leaning down to kiss the top of my head softly. I grasped his wrists, drawing his arms around me, clinging to him as fiercely as I could.


	10. Chapter Ten

The next week flew by in a blur of classes and preparation. I convinced Ron and Harry to help me train by using some of their old Quidditch skills; I found that dodging Bludgers on foot was an excellent simulation of combat defense. Harry also taught me a good bit about effective Spell dodging, and teaching Ron some more complex Bedouin Charms sharpened my memory of Spells I hadn't used in years.

Hermione, meanwhile, threw herself into researching Muslim theology and Bedouin magic, searching for possible plan concepts. The little Arabic I had taught her my first year back had proven a good foundation for her own study of the language; her knowledge of classical Arabic far surpassed mine, making her a natural choice to comb through esoteric alchemy texts.

Friday dinner was one of Dumbledore's special meals. In a fit of whimsy, he arranged for a full Egyptian meal, complete with exotic fruits and spices. I groaned inwardly– I would be facing the food soon enough, and what I really wanted were several weeks of the traditional British food I wouldn't be able to get abroad. The students were also of mixed feelings, especially when confronted with stuffed grape leaves for the first time.

Midway through the meal, Ron inquired after my colleague. "Have you heard anything, Anne? I thought he was supposed to be here this week."

"He was. That's a problem with this work– if someone doesn't show up, you can't really find out where they are. You just have to wait." I bit into a stuffed fig.

A flash of blue light exploded in the middle of the Great Hall. Students scattered shrieking as the faculty whipped out wands to defend against a possible threat. I flung a bubble around the figure that materialized inside a pillar of smoke. The figure gestured, ripping through my shield as if it were made of tissue. A large black bird soared in through an open window and settled on the figure's wrist. Only then did I realize who it was.

"Stop!" I threw a restraining arm in front of Severus. When he lowered his wand, I rushed around the table and hurried up to the figure. I folded my hands in a pose of greeting and bowed as the figure tossed back his hood.

"Fahad. Welcome to Hogwarts, elder brother." He extended his arm to me; I clasped it tightly. He hesitated a moment before pulling me into an embrace.

"Little sister. I did not recognize you as an Englishwoman." His voice was musical with laughter, as warm and flowing as I remembered. I pulled away and studied his face affectionately. He had long hazel eyes in a face seemingly untouched by the desert sun. His hair, thick and mahogany-colored, still fell to his shoulders in careful waves. He was clad in black, the garb of a Bedouin nomad; he tossed his loose djellabah open to reveal robes of deep indigo and black.

I grasped his hand in my own. "Come, Fahad. You must sit and eat with us." I escorted him to the faculty table. The other professors rose, a gesture of hospitality that touched me deeply. Fahad bowed to the table and clasped hands with each of my friends. I purposefully avoided introducing Severus until we were seated. Once Fahad was settled into a chair and provided with food, I laid a hand on Severus' shoulder.

"Elder brother. I would like to introduce you to the final member of our faculty. This is Professor Severus Snape." The two men shook hands, Severus eyeing Fahad warily. "Severus, Fahad's family adopted me when I first came to live with the Bedouin." I grinned, anticipating the next few moments. "I believe you will need to discuss your intentions with him, since he is the only representative of my family available." 

Both men stared at me, not comprehending my meaning. I chuckled. "Elder brother, Severus and I...well...something has developed between us." I stopped, noticing that Fahad's face was darkening thunderously. 

He leaned closer to me. "Little sister, I trust that nothing has occurred that would compromise your honor." His voice was dangerously calm. I felt Severus draw breath to protest; I clamped down on his hand to silence him.

"How do you mean, elder brother? Please explain how I would dishonor myself." He flushed darkly. His next words were in Arabic.

"He has not taken advantage of you, sister? Nor coerced you or threatened you? Does he respect you and cherish you as one of our own tribe would?" Ah. That was the point. I wondered which of his many cousins my brother had intended for me.

I pressed my palms together in a gesture of supplication. "Elder brother, he is a good man. He is strange and melancholy and regrets much of his actions as a youth, but I believe that he loves me. He treats me well." I paused, considering my next words carefully. "I love him, brother. And I am happy."

The effect on Fahad was palpable. His face split in a wide, brilliant grin. He swept me into his arms again, shouting out a praise to Allah. The faculty, startled, stared in amazement as Fahad sprang from his chair and embraced a very surprised Severus. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven 

My rooms after dinner were as lively as the Bedouin tribal gatherings I had attended with Fahad and his family. Faculty members passed in and out, eager to meet this flashy new arrival, and students from every House managed to slip past the open doorway to sneak a peek. After a couple of hours of noise and crowds, I shooed out everyone but those privy to my assignment; I wandered into the kitchen to gather the things for traditional Arabic coffee.

Fahad was curled gracefully on the floor before the fire when I returned with the tray. He took the tray from me, insisting on preparing the coffee himself. As he poured the beans into a small roasting pan, I slipped back into the kitchen to boil water for tea. I jumped slightly as a cool hand fell on my shoulder; Severus squeezed my neck gently before rummaging in a cupboard for mugs.

"I assume the tea preparations are a not-so-subtle warning against the coffee." His voice was dry, pitched low enough to not be heard in the next room. I smiled at him as I fussed with milk and sugar.

"Well, as I recall, Fahad tends to make his coffee somewhat stronger than I do. I don't think you'll find it to your taste, and as keen as the others are on trying new things, I doubt they'll like it any more." 

He helped me carry the tea things out into the sitting room; we handed mugs around to Hermione, Ron, and Albus. Harry declined a cup, saying he preferred to wait for coffee. Severus took his own mug and settled into his usual chair.

I folded myself onto the floor facing Fahad so I could grind the beans as they finished toasting. We worked together with the ease of much practice and many long nights spent waiting out the silent desert nights. He grinned at me, a flashing of strong white teeth in his dusky face, the only outward sign of approval of my work he had ever given. I handed the ground coffee to him and leaned back against Severus's leg, resting my head on his knee. His cool fingers stroked my hair absently as he scrutinized Fahad's movements.

Hermione shifted slightly on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position sandwiched between Ron and Harry. I glanced at them sleepily.

"Why don't one of you sit on the floor? 'Mione looks like she's going to wiggle right off the couch at any moment now."

Harry nodded, grinning, and slid onto the floor. Dumbledore also shifted in his chair, leaning forward to study my face.

"I know you have not had time to confer with your colleague, Professor Llewellyn, but have you made any decisions about your plan of action?"

I shook my head. "Nothing firm, Albus. Unfortunately, there's really only so much planning I can do before I'm in the group; until then, there is a lot of information that I need that I don't have. Elder brother, what news do you bring?"

Fahad finished adding the ground coffee to a pot of water over the fire. He turned his attention to us, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Our agents have learned that this Madhi, as he likes to call himself, is very young, barely a man. Despite this–or perhaps because of it– he has attracted a large number of followers, mostly female. He seems to have a special fondness for young women of a certain type which I am sure you will be able to fit, sister."

He paused to stir the simmering coffee. "He is a prophet, with some skill at prediction. Apparently he is some type of wizard, because our reports say that he has performed miracles and had visitations in full view of non-believers. He claims to talk to Allah Himself and to be the chosen leader of all Muslims everywhere. According to the Madhi, Allah wants his people to lead a global revolution to take over every single country. He claims that dominion over the earth was promised to his people by God, and that God told him dominion would come by warfare."

I sighed, squeezing my eyes tightly. Severus touched my forehead gently before speaking.

"This troubles you, Anne. Perhaps you might explain for those of us not familiar with the situation."

"It's bad, Severus. Very bad. Ordinarily, a small extremist group like this wouldn't pose much of a threat; Islam doesn't advocate violence except in extreme situations of self-defense, and the majority of Muslims don't listen to fanatics like the Madhi. But things have been unstable in the Middle East since the wars–our wars, that is. And if this man can create visitations, it will only take a little effort to convince a lot of people that he is genuine."  

Fahad poured three tiny cups of the thick coffee and passed one each to Harry and me. I sipped carefully; the liquid was so strong it numbed my tongue before releasing a wave of cardamom and cinnamon into my mouth. He nodded slowly at my words and continued.

"And he has convinced quite a few people; even non-Muslims have begun converting because of these visitations. Any outward aggression toward him would be incredibly dangerous, given the number of people that surround him at all times. So the puzzle, then, is how to eliminate the Madhi without endangering ourselves and without inciting his followers to violence."

"I just don't know, brother." I pressed my fingers to my temple. "I'm afraid anything we do will end badly."

Harry spoke from the floor. "What if you use his own tricks against him?"

Fahad glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Could you create your own visitation, one that destroys everything he's been teaching?"

Fahad and I stared at each other in amazement. Fahad laughed aloud, a great ringing sound in the cozy room.

"That might work. That might work indeed."

The rest of the month flew by altogether too quickly. We all worked too hard, poring over obscure texts trying to find a spell, any spell that might help us. Fahad spent most of his time with Hermione and Ron, working through increasingly complex illusions, each carefully calculated and researched to recreate the miracles attested in mainstream Sunni Islam. He reasoned that, since most of the new fanatics had been more moderate before joining the movement, the Madhi's followers still retained many of their prior beliefs and thus would be most affected by familiar phenomenon. 

At first, I experienced the same rush of excitement and anticipation that had always preceded a potentially difficult assignment. During the wars, I volunteered for every dangerous mission that crossed my superior's desk, diving into each one with little or no regret and perhaps an unhealthy thrill. I burrowed into obscure texts with a glee that rivaled 'Mione's, studying until all hours of the night, practicing and memorizing and always working on something or other.

I hit the wall after two weeks of constant work. My migraines, dormant for months, returned more vicious than they had been since just after my injury. I woke up with headaches on several mornings, unable to get out of bed or do anything other than lie in the bed with a pillow pressed over my eyes. Even when I could start the day, my eyesight almost invariably failed after less than an hour of reading. My nerves, usually fairly steady in the practice arena, seemed to be shattered; on several memorable occasions Harry and Ron narrowly escaped a spell thrown badly awry by a sudden fit of shaking.

All of that was familiar from the first weeks after the war; more disturbing were the sudden attacks of anxiety and doubt. I would be strolling through a corridor or eating or engaging in some other innocuous activity, and would panic; the attacks were crippling in their severity, leaving me weak and faint from hyperventilation. I began second-guessing every action, every thought, unable to make even the simplest decisions. Increasingly often, I caught myself sitting and staring at myself in a mirror without realizing that hours had passed.

Most frustrating to the people around me was the process of pulling away from everyone, of distancing myself from anyone and anything that might suffer if I didn't come home. I could tell people, all I wanted, that my job was dangerous and required me to not care about anything, but I doubt they fully understood this until they found themselves shut out. I particularly found myself pulling away from Severus; I know he noticed and I know he tried not to let it hurt him, but it steadily became obvious to me that he wouldn't tolerate my indifference for long.

"Anne?" I blinked, shaking myself out of reverie. I met my own eyes in the dressing-table mirror; I was shocked by the haunted expression on my face, the deep shadows under the eyes, the visibly thinning features. Severus stood behind me, his own face creased with worry.

"I'm sorry, Severus. What were you saying?" I turned away from the mirror to face him. He crossed his arms across his chest, gathering his sooty robes around him.

"I asked if you were hungry. You missed dinner. Again." 

I shook my head, a sharp, convulsive movement that I couldn't seem to control. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry—I'm not feeling very well, actually. I don't think I could eat..."

I listened to my own voice trail away. Severus shook me slightly, gripping my shoulder with surprising strength.

"It isn't too late to decline, Anne. You can still step away from this assignment—no one will blame you."

I fought against a sudden wave of grief and despair that rose in my chest like a great bitter tide. I shook my head again.

"I can't, Severus. I'm in too far now to back out, even if I wanted to." I clasped my shaking hands together, pressing as hard as I could to hide the trembling. Severus grasped my hands in his own, gazing into my eyes.

"Anne, you're driving yourself too hard. Why? Can't you see that you're hurting yourself?" 

I could hear the strain in his voice; I closed my eyes against the onslaught of his concern. Twisting out of his grasp as gently as I could, I dropped back onto the bench with my back to him.

"Severus, I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but you can't keep coddling me like this. I will be fine—I always am. This is normal. You just don't know it." I tried, but couldn't meet his eyes in the mirror. 

I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck, drilling into me. I fiddled about with objects on the tabletop, moving bottles and boxes from side to side. He was a silent presence behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders icy and still. He stood there for a long time, waiting for me to say something. 

I didn't intend to speak first, but something about his waiting pushed me into it. I stared into his eyes in the mirror, saw all the frustration and anger and fear that he was trying so hard to hide, and something inside me snapped.

"There's nothing you can do, Severus. I don't need you in this. What's more, I don't _want_ you involved." 

I winced internally at the icy edge in my own voice. Severus blinked, also surprised by my tone. He started to speak and I cut him off, choosing words I knew would hurt him, would push him a safe distance from me.

"I mean it. You're an academic now. Whatever work you did in the last wars was a long time ago, too long to be any good. You'd be worse than useless to us—you'd be a hindrance and a distraction, and I'll be damned if I see good operatives get killed because you don't know when stay out of the way."

I dropped my eyes back to the tabletop, hating myself for what I was about to say. "This job is my life, Severus. I don't love anything else more. Not even you."

He inhaled sharply. I resolutely avoided looking into the mirror. His voice, when he spoke, was the bitter, flat drawl he had often turned on Harry during our school years. "I see that I have overstepped my bounds. Do forgive me for troubling you, Professor. I would not wish to impose my incompetence on you."

He turned on one heel and stalked out of the room. I remained in front of the mirror, watching tears fall onto the vanity surface and splatter the lap of my robes.

Severus and I avoided each other for the last week I was at Hogwarts. We each kept to our own rooms, deliberately sat in isolated areas of the library, and I stopped visiting the laboratory when I knew he'd be working late. We were required to sit together at meals, but we only spoke when it was absolutely necessary in the course of the meal. He also stopped speaking to the others in our group; it was as if any contact with them was painful to him, as it might well have been. He became again the dark, sullen figure I remembered, unpleasant to his colleagues and an unholy terror to his students. I noticed, though, that his eyes often followed me as I crossed a room or sat at the table.

I didn't tell anyone, not even Hermione. I seemed to be back at school again, always hiding something, keeping secrets. I tried to tell myself that what I was doing was best for everyone involved, but I still spent hours of every night missing Severus so badly I could hardly breathe. During the day, I tried to pretend I was fine and that I didn't want to cry 

The others noticed, of course, but for the most part chose not to comment directly to me. Hermione, however, wouldn't let the issue go. She cornered me one evening after dinner, demanding to talk.

"Really, Hermione, it's not a good time. I have so much to do—we're leaving in two days, you know, and nothing's finished and—"

She gripped my elbow surprisingly hard. "All that can wait. This is important, Anne."

She steered me out of the dining hall over my protestations, and kept a tight hold on my arm until we reached the rooms she and Ron shared. Ron was in a rocking chair, feeding Sara, when we entered; he glanced at his wife's determined face and my decidedly irritated expression, gathered up the baby, and left the room. 

Hermione pointed at the now-empty chair. "Sit."

I hesitated, feeling my irritation increase dangerously quickly. I opened my mouth to refuse, but my jaw snapped shut when she placed on hand very carefully in the center of my chest and pushed me gently into the chair. She crossed her arms, glaring down at me in the same way she looked at her daughter when she was caught doing something naughty. I was ashamed of myself and wasn't sure I appreciated it.

After a few moments of her staring me down, I sighed resignedly. "Fine, Hermione. What it is?"

"I don't know," she shook her head at me, annoyed. "You tell me what it is."

I glanced away guiltily. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She tsked at me in exasperation. "Oh, come off it, Anne. Quit pretending nothing's wrong. I know you better than that, and you know it. What's going on with you these days? You don't look good, you don't sound good, and--if you'll forgive me saying it—you're acting horribly."

"I'm working, Hermione. I have important things to think about," I snapped at her, letting my annoyance seep out. She shook her head again, her expression steady and piercing.

"That's not it, though, is it? Not really. You're hiding behind your work, but whatever's going on has precious little to do with that. Now, you can either tell me, or I can go have a chat with Albus. Or maybe with your friend, if Albus can't get through to you."

"How _dare_ you threaten me?" I surged up out of the chair to my full height, looming over her. "I'm not your child, Hermione. I won't be bullied or pushed around, by you or by anyone else. What I do isn't anyone's concern unless I want it to be."

"Is that why you've stopped talking to Severus?" she challenged. "Do you think he's pushing you around or trying to interfere with your work?"

"No." I turned away from her, drawing my robes tighter about me. She grasped my shoulder and hauled me around to face her again.

"Then why?" Her face was worried, despite the sharp tone of her voice. "Look, Anne, all I know is you both seemed to be really happy, happier than I'd seen in a long time. And now you're avoiding each other like you hate each other."

"I don't hate Severus." My voice caught on his name. I cursed inwardly as I felt the tears collect in my eyes again. "Don't you understand? I don't hate him."

Hermione's face softened when the first tear streaked down my cheek. "Why are you avoiding each other, then? I _don't_ understand. And neither of you will talk about it—Anne, I just want to help."

It was my turn to shake my head. "You can't help, 'Mione. There's nothing anyone can do. I have to keep him from getting hurt, even if it means hurting him a little now. He'll be glad of it later." I picked at one fingernail nervously, a habit I thought I'd outgrown. Hermione took my hand in her own and pulled me over to the sofa. I couldn't seem to make the tears stop; I thought I'd reconciled myself to losing Severus, but now I realized it was the last thing I wanted.

She sat quietly, letting me talk. "I know, it sounds stupid. I don't want to let him go, 'Mione, but I have to. This assignment…I don't know if the Ministry has any idea how dangerous this is going to be, not really."

"How bad is it?"

I sighed. "If I were given to drama, I'd say the situation is dire. That's a little overblown, but not by much. I won't lie to you—you'd just figure it out anyway—it's going to be awful. There's a better than usual chance that we're going to lose our own people."

"Is that why you're trying to distance yourself from Severus? Because something bad is going to happen?" 

"Yes. In an assignment like this, the person in the most danger is the one who has to infiltrate the organization. You're cut off from the other agents—you have to be to keep the group from finding out—and there's almost no way to tell if a situation is going to explode until it's about to happen." I went back to picking at my nails.

"And you're the infiltrator. So you're trying to push Severus away because you think something will happen to you…"

"Exactly. I've seen them, 'Mione. I've had to go to families and tell that that their son or daughter or husband is dead, or missing, or that we don't know what happened to them. That's what you tell the family if something horrible has happened, something you wouldn't want the survivors thinking about. It's hard enough to tell a mother that her child is dead without leaving them with details of a curse." I struggled to keep my voice controlled, to curb the rising hysteria I could hear building. 

"I can't put him through something like that. I just can't. And I can't be worried about that when I'm in. Distractions are hazardous, Hermione."

She stood up abruptly, striding across the room to the fireplace. She took several deep breaths before speaking again.

"Anne, are you cutting Severus loose because you don't want him to get hurt, or are you leaving him before he can hurt you—like Harry did?"

Fahad and I left Hogwarts on a grey, rainy May afternoon. Dumbledore saw us off, reminding us that any number of professors were willing and able to help if we required any assistance at all. He had thoughtfully created an unobtrusive summoning device, a plain silver veil pin that would, when broken, instantly send a distress message to Hogwarts.

No one else attended our departure. Hermione and I had barely spoken since our conversation in her rooms. I said my goodbyes to Ron and Harry the evening before, and asked them not to come see us off. I knew leaving again would be harder than it had ever been before; a strange sort of creeping dread had come over me as I had prepared for the assignment, a deep and abiding conviction that I would die in Egypt, and I wanted what I believed would be my last sight of my dearest friends to be cheerful.

Fahad met me on the Quidditch pitch just after sunrise; we would Apparate to his tribe's newest location, stay for briefing and a reacclimation for me then travel by horseback to Cairo. If all went well, we should arrive in the city by the end of June. I was hoping that the desperate plan we had hatched would be completed within the next month; again, if all went well, I would be back at Hogwarts before classes started in the fall. As I shouldered the small bag I was taking with me, I silently prayed that our luck would hold that far, that I could finish this thing and come home.

"Are you ready, sister?" Fahad's soft voice broke into my musings. He was clad in the traditional robes of his tribe, stark black offset with indigo blue and touches of silver edging. I fingered my own robes, a set that I had packed away two years before. The robes, like Fahad's, were deep black, the soft fabric brushing the tops of my shoes and the backs of my hands. I nervously adjusted the dark blue veils that swathed my head, checked that no hair was creeping out from under the tight wraps. I had cast an appearance-altering Charm on myself earlier that morning; my neck was tickled slightly by the straying end of the knot of dark brown hair.

I swallowed, steeling myself for the Apparating, and jerked my head once toward Fahad.

"Let's go."

Just before we disappeared, a dark shape moved in the Slytherin box. Severus stood, rigid and somber, watching us leave. 


End file.
